City of Bones: Revised Edition
by I Suffer From Hubris
Summary: NEW RENDITION UP. SEE "CITY OF BONES". THIS IS ON PERMANENT HIATUS. What if Clary was replaced with Carrie, an arrogant and sarcastic main character who won't take pretentious morons like Jace without putting up a fight and is more like Valentine than Jocelyn? Warning: Language! R&R
1. Chapter 1

**THE NEW AND MUCH IMPROVED EFFORT OF THIS CONCEPT (changing _City of Bones_ by Cassandra Clare for the better) IS FINALLY UP. FIND IT ON MY PROFILE OR ON THE MAIN PAGE AS SIMPLY _City of Bones_. I'VE WORKED LONG AND HARD ON IT AND I HOPE YOU'LL ALL ENJOY IT.**

**Love,  
>I Suffer From Hubris<br>**

* * *

><p>City of Bones: Revised Edition<p>

Chapter One- _Pandemonium_

"You've got to be kidding me," the bouncer said, folding his arms across his massive chest. I looked on, bored, since I had nothing better to do. He stared down at the boy in the red zip-up jacket and shook his head. "You can't bring that thing in here."

I was waiting in line to get into the Pandemonium Club with my two best friends, fraternal twins Maddie and Simon, and about fifty or so other teenagers. The idiotic bouncer over-inspected everyone, which made the wait to get in take _forever_. I didn't even want to be there (especially on a Sunday; who goes to a club on a Sunday?), but Maddie liked it a lot and was dragging me against my will, along with her twin brother. I, fifteen-year-old Carrie Fray, sighed my annoyance but decided to eavesdrop anyway. Judging from our position in line, I'd have to wait at least another fifteen minutes to get in. And then came the so-called "dancing" amongst the dregs of society. Teenagers. Yuck. Was it physically possible to _be_ a teenager and _despise_ teenagers everywhere at the same time? Probably, since I was Exhibit A.

"Aw, come on." The kid hoisted his impractical accessory up over his head. It looked like a wooden beam, pointed at one end. "It's part of my costume." So he was cosplaying. Interesting. I liked the occasional cosplay, but wearing costumes to a club was just stupid. Then again... a made-for-teenagers club was also pretty stupid. What was the point of clubs, really?

The bouncer raised an eyebrow. "Which is what?"

The cosplayer-boy grinned. He was relatively normal-looking, one of those unfortunate members of society that is neither good-looking nor bad-looking. Well, I suppose it would be better than being ugly, but I still wouldn't want to be as nondescript in the face as this guy. Despite his average face, his hair was a bright, electric blue, and stuck up unnaturally around his head in tentacle-like spikes. He didn't seem to have any unnatural facial piercings or anything, so maybe he was at least kind of normal for the sort of ingrates that usually went to Pandemonium. But what was normalcy, anyway? "I'm a vampire hunter."

I snorted to myself, which Simon heard. He asked me quietly, "You alright?"

I shushed him with a hand so that I could resume listening in on the 'vampire hunter's' conversation. If he was a vampire hunter, then call me Pretty-In-Pink Barbie. That had to be the single lamest costume I'd ever seen.

He pushed down on his wooden thing, and it bent as easily as a blade of grass. "It's fake. Foam rubber. See?" What the heck was foam rubber supposed to be? Foam and rubber were two completely different things. Something was fishy about his story, and I couldn't quite put my finger on it.

I studied the blue-haired boy more closely and saw how his wide eyes were excessively bright green. They were the color of lime-flavored lollipops, and no one had eyes like that. Colored contact lenses? I wondered vaguely if he was pretending to be some Anime vampire hunter I'd never heard of (it would explain the stupid-looking costume), and decided that probably wasn't true. But otherwise, what idiot would think that a vampire hunter dressed like _that_ catastrophe? Oh, the joys of being a born critic.

The bouncer shrugged, not exactly convinced but tired with talking to the kid. "Whatever. Go on in."

Speaking of lollipops, Maddie noisily licked one beside me. She carried them with her whenever she dragged us to clubs, such as was currently happening.

"Can you stop being so loud?" Simon whined to her.

"Make me, bitch," she said back, grinning and messing up his dark brown hair that was so much like hers. I gave them a withering look, and then went back to spying on the lame cosplayer. I was used to their sibling banter, but at times, it could get mildly annoying.

The boy practically _sprinted_ past him into Pandemonium. I couldn't help revoking my idea that he might be normal. He seemed overtly eager. Almost giddy, even. Who would be that happy to get into a half-rate club for teenagers?

"Why are you looking at that strange boy?" Simon asked me. "You know, the one with the electric blue hair?"

"She probably thinks he's cute," commented Maddie.

"_Cute?!_" exclaimed her twin, sending a scandalized look at me.

"Relax, Simon," I assured him. "He's entirely nondescript."

"How can you call electric blue hair _nondescript?_"

I rolled my eyes and snorted. "Pssh. Why would I like a loser like him, anyway?"

Maddie grinned, obviously at how she thought my extreme lack of a love life was hilarious. "Yeah, Simon, he's definitely not her type. But he _might_ just be your type."

Simon raised an eyebrow at her, but half-smiled nonetheless at his twin. "How many times do I have to remind you that I'm not gay?" Maddie seemed a little too amused for the present situation.

I laughed, and smirked at Simon. "As many times as it takes to convince us."

_Inside, the club was full of dry-ice smoke. Colored lights played over the dance floor, turning it into a multicolored fairyland of blues and acid greens, hot pinks and golds. _

_The boy in the red jacket stroked the long razor-sharp blade in his hands, an idle smile playing over his lips. It had been so easy- a little bit of glamour on the blade, to make it look harmless. Another glamour on his eyes, and the moment the bouncer looked straight at him, he was in. Of course, he could probably have gotten by without all that trouble, but it was part of the fun- fooling the mundies, doing it all out in the open right in front of them, getting off on the blank looks on their sheep-like faces._

_Not that the humans didn't have their uses. The boy's acid green eyes scanned the dance floor, where slender limbs clad in scraps of silk and black leather appeared and disappeared inside the revolving columns of smoke as the mundies danced. Girls tossed their long hair, boys swung their leather-clad hips, and bare skin glittered with sweat. Vitality just _poured_ off them, waves of energy that filled him with a drunken dizziness. His lip curled. They didn't know how lucky they were. They didn't know what it was like to eke out life in a dead world, where the sun hung limp in the sky like a burned cinder. Their lives burned as brightly as candle flames- and were as easy to snuff out._

_His hand tightened on the blade he carried, and he had begun to step out on the dance floor when a girl broke away from the mass of dancers and began walking toward him. He stared at her. She was beautiful, for a human- long hair nearly the precise color of black ink, charcoaled eyes. Floor-length white gown, the kind women used to wear when this world was younger. Lace sleeves belled out around her slim arms. Around her neck was a thick silver chain, on which hung a dark red pendant the size of a baby's fist. He only had to narrow his eyes to know that it was real- real and precious. His mouth started to water as she neared him. Vital energy pulsed from her like blood from an open wound. She smiled, passing him, beckoning him with her eyes. He turned to follow her, tasting the phantom sizzle of death on his lips. _

_It was always easy. He could already feel the power of her evaporating life coursing through his veins like fire. Humans were so stupid. They had something so precious, and they barely safeguarded it at all. They threw away their lives for money, for packets of powder, for a stranger's charming smile. The girl was a pale ghost retreating through the colored smoke. She reached the wall and turned, bunching her skirt up in her hands, lifting it as she grinned at him. Under the skirt, she was wearing thigh-high boots. _

_He sauntered up to her, his skin prickling with her nearness. Up close, she wasn't so perfect: he could see the mascara smudged under her eyes, the sweat sticking her hair to her neck. He could smell her mortality, the sweet rot of corruption. _Got you_, he thought._

_A cool smile curled her lips. She moved to the side, and he could see that she was leaning against a closed door. _NO ADMITTANCE- STORAGE_ was scrawled across it in red paint. She reached behind him for the knob, turned it, slid inside. He caught a glimpse of stacked boxes, tangled wiring. A storage room. He glanced behind him- no one was looking. So much the better if she wanted privacy._

_He slipped into the room after her, unaware that he was being followed._

"So," Simon said uncomfortably, "pretty good music, eh?"

I didn't answer him. I was standing on the spot, picking at my nails, while Maddie danced wildly and Simon swayed back and forth. Around us was a group of teenage boys in neon, girly corsets, and a young Asian couple who were oh-so-passionately making out. I noted to myself that they would have definite trouble untangling their bright hair extensions. A few paces away, a boy with an unsanitary lip piercing and a teddy bear backpack (seriously, how old was he, four?) was handing out free tablets of herbal ecstasy, his parachute pants flapping in the breeze from the wind machine.

In the center of the room was a girl with vibrant red, curly hair who was wearing cut-off Bermuda shorts, a faded, beige, paint-stained shirt, and green Skechers. She was tearing up the dance floor, almost literally, since she danced around like a possessed person in need of an exorcism. A circle of people had formed around her, always ducking out of the way of her stubby, freckled arms whenever she got too close. The girl wasn't even dancing on beat. Was she officially insane?

As entertaining as the ginger was, I was still intrigued by that 'vampire hunter', so I scanned the crowd for him. If only I wasn't so short, just over 5'3". Maddie and Simon were just over half a foot taller than me, which was most certainly unfair.

"I, for one," Maddie said mordantly, stopping her dancing for a minute, "am enjoying myself immensely."

"Of course _you_ are," I told her. "But the rest of our little group is decidedly uncomfortable." I elbowed Simon. "Right, Simon?"

Simon looked shaken up, like I had just jarred him out of a trance. "Hmm? Oh... yeah... I'm having a lot of fun here."

That seemed unlikely. Simon stuck out from the rest of the crowd like a sore thumb, in his old "MADE IN BROOKLYN" T-shirt and jeans. Maddie hadn't dyed his hair for the occasion, thankfully, and his glasses leaned precariously on his nose. He looked less as if he were contemplating the power of darkness and more as if he were on his way to chess club. But there was nothing wrong with that.

Maddie, on the other hand, blended in with everyone pretty well. Her painfully straight dark brown hair was down without any haphazard colors in it, but her dress was very short and made of black leather. Somehow, it worked with her combat boots, and before I knew it, she was chatting up the group of boys wearing corsets.

I, like Simon, was dressed like I always did, except I still could have passed for going to a club, I guessed. Dark skinny jeans, dark tank top, dark zip-up sweatshirt (zipped to just above the pockets), deep purple hi-tops. My hair was a hot mess in a good way, in a wavy, crazy, almost blonde mop that touched my waist. A couple years before, I had gone through the phase of straightening my hair and trying to look presentable, but once I got my braces off, I stopped. People still complimented me daily on my awesome hair, anyway.

And besides, I had a classically lovely, porcelain-doll-esque face, so did it really matter how I dressed? (My ego certainly was not suffering, FYI.)

Speaking of my beautiful appearance, one of the corset-wearing boys stepped into my line of sight and smiled creepily at me. "Hey there, gorgeous."

I blinked at him with my huge blue-gray eyes, and said, "You talking to me?"

"Of course I am," he said, as if I had offended him with my nonchalance. "What's your name?"

I smiled angelically, brightly saying, "It's none of your business." Before he could respond, I grabbed Simon by the back of his shirt and Maddie by her arm and dragged them a safe distance away from the Corset Boys.

"What was that about?" Simon asked.

I brushed some hair out of my face. "One of those idiots was flirting with me, the usual."

Maddie just looked at me. "Was he cute?"

"No," I said, realizing I hadn't even checked. Oh well, I didn't have to tell my best friends. "He didn't have a chance. And anyway, I don't like corsets. Far too feminine." My constant smirk was on my face, as always, betraying my careless arrogance about things in general.

Simon looked enlightened, for whatever reason. "Good for you, Carrie. You just keep refusing them."

"What are you, my older brother?" I grinned. I kind-of wished I did have a brother, though, or any sibling. I was an only child, and it could get lonely sometimes. Maddie and Simon always had each other, and I occasionally envied that.

"_He_ certainly hopes not," Maddie said quietly.

"What?" I asked her. I must have misheard what she said, or something.

Maddie kept smiling as she locked eyes with Simon, whose mouth was flapped open unattractively. "Nothing."

I looked around our new surroundings, and realized I had a direct view of the cosplayer boy who had caused the stir outside. He was sneaking through the area as if he was up to no good, but at the same time seemed lost. Like he hadn't found the person he was looking for. I was contemplating telling Maddie to ask him if he needed help, but then I saw him jerk up abruptly into a standing position.

I followed his line of sight and saw the tall girl in the ridiculous white dress.

She was somewhat pretty, I guess, the stripper-type that boys always went gaga over. She had relatively long black hair- not nearly as long as mine- but her dress was so impractical that it was funny. It looked almost like some vintage representation of a wedding dress, floor-length and gauzy. Not the typical attire for a club, oh no. No one in their right mind would wear something like _that_ nowadays. Was she also cosplaying? Maybe they knew each other, since he was following her like a maniac. And what was with that odd necklace she was wearing? The jewel was enormous. If that thing was real, she was probably going to get mugged later. I couldn't tell her eye color from the distance, but I _could_ deduce that she was wearing _far_ too much makeup, and that it was extremely marring her traditionally pretty features.

"I feel," Simon said sarcastically, seemingly recovered from his gape of moments before, "that this evening DJ Diggz is doing a singularly exceptional job. Don't you agree?"

I rolled my eyes at him, but said anyway, "I disagree completely," in an airy, superior tone. Like Simon, I _loathed_ this type of music. Trance music. I knew very well that he was playing along only so Maddie wouldn't murder him in his sleep.

He said something else, but I wasn't really paying attention. I was still curious about the black-haired, white-dressed girl who was leading the 'vampire hunter' somewhere. Then...

Okay, perhaps I was hallucinating or something, but I noticed that two figures in dark clothes (dressed up as ninjas or something?) were _also_ hot on the chase, except they were following the cosplayer dude. I gazed after them suspiciously, as they were tailing him like a couple of stalkers.

Maybe they _were_ his stalkers, and I should just go back to my own business. What was so great about a guy in a stupid looking costume following a tall girl in an _equally_ stupid costume? Nothing, really.

But I couldn't help it. They say curiosity killed the cat, so I suppose I was the cat, which makes sense because Maddie told me constantly that I _was_ a feline.

Either way, on further inspection of the shadowy shapes, I realized they were boys, probably in their late teens. They were both tall and wearing black clothes, and they were quite obviously following the other two teenagers.

I tuned back in to Simon's unending monologue, and he said, "Meanwhile, I wanted to tell you that lately I've been cross-dressing. Also, I'm sleeping with your mom. I thought you should know."

I groaned, "You're pathetic, Simon."

"Yes, but that's why you love me," he retorted. I glanced around for Maddie, but she had apparently sneaked off while I was zoned out. I turned my head to look for her, and saw she was flirting with some girl. Because there's something about Maddie that you need to know, and that's the fact that she's bisexual. But hey, it never bothered me.

"Whatever," I said in a patronizing tone. "Think what you will." Just at that moment, the girl reached the wall and opened a door marked NO ADMITTANCE, making eyes at the blue-haired boy behind her. Ah, well, they were sneaking off to make out and probably have sex. They could go and ruin their lives if they wanted to, and I wouldn't care less.

But that didn't explain the stalkers.

I craned my neck to see them better, and they were paused outside the door and talking, with tense expressions on their faces. One was a blonde, and the other's hair was black like the girl in the white dress's had been. The blonde reached into his jacket and pulled out something long and sharp that flashed under the strobe lights. A knife? _What?_

But I was Carrie, so I kept my cool on the outside. Whereas my brain was screaming and all the little people inside were running around, flapping their arms in panic, I maintained my calm, arrogant exterior. Something must have flickered across my face, though, because Simon said slowly, "You alright, Carrie?"

"I'm fine," I assured him, forcing a smile. "Stop worrying so much, or you'll turn into an ornery cat lady."

"I am not now, nor will I ever be, a cat lady," Simon said.

"If you say so." My curiosity ebbed again about the boys with the knife, so I jerked my chin in their vague direction. "Hey, do you see those guys, the ones by that door?"

Simon squinted, and then shrugged at me. "I don't see anything. Maybe they left." Suddenly, his expression changed. "Why, are you checking them out or something?"

"_Simon!_" I said, looking at him, annoyed. I decided to play along for a little while. "I mean, _oh sure._ I wanted a gay boy's opinion on their fashion sense." Then, I dropped all pretenses. "What do you think? Do I ever check _anyone_ out? By Jove, you've been really weird lately." I was fully aware that I was being semi-cruel, but he was used to it by now. That was just my personality: arrogant, sarcastic, and magnificent.

"Thanks for the compliment," he muttered darkly. "You make me feel so good about myself."

"It's my job." I brought up the stalkers again. "Over there, by that door... Do you see them? They were just creeping on that blue-haired guy-"

"The nondescript one who you and Maddie think is _my type_, even though I'm decidedly straight?"

"Yeah, yeah, but that's not my point. The blonde had something in his hand."

Simon was unconcerned. "Okay. So?"

I abandoned trying to talk to him about the problem. "You know what? Never mind. They must have left." Even to me, my voice sounded mechanical. Rehearsed.

"That's great." He obviously knew something was up, but wasn't going to ask about it. Simon was a good friend.

But the whole stalker thing was still eating at me, so I'd have to investigate this one on my own. Ah, yes, call me Detective Carrie Fray. Carrie Fray, Private Investigator.

So I said shortly to Simon, "I think I see someone I know. I'll be right back, okay?"

"Okay," he said uncertainly. "Should I come with you?"

"Nope!" I called over my shoulder, tracing the steps of the black-clad stalkers. I saw the blonde slip though the NO ADMITTANCE door, his friend right on his heels. So, knowing that I was making a stupid decision but not entirely caring, I stalked the stalkers.

_"What's your name?"_

_She turned and smiled. What faint light there was in the storage room spilled down through high barred windows smeared with dirt. Piles of electrical cables, along with broken bits of mirrored disco balls and discarded paint cans littered the floor._

_"Isabelle."_

_"That's a nice name." He walked toward her, stepping carefully among the wires in case any of them were live. In the faint light, she looked half-transparent, bleached of color, wrapped in white like an angel. It would be a pleasure to make her fall... "I haven't seen you here before."_

_"You're asking me if I come here often?" She giggled, covering her mouth with her hand. There was some sort of bracelet around her wrist, just under the cuff of her dress- then, as he neared her, he saw that it wasn't a bracelet at all but a pattern inked into her skin, a matrix of swirling lines._

_He froze. "You-"_

_He didn't finish. She moved with lightning swiftness, striking out at him with her open hand, a blow to his chest that would have sent him down gasping if he'd been a human being. He staggered back, and now there was something in her hand, a coiling whip that glinted gold as she brought it down, curling around his ankles, jerking him off his feet. He hit the ground, writhing, the hated metal biting deep into his skin. She laughed, standing over him, and dizzily he thought that he should have _known_. No human girl would wear a dress like the one Isabelle wore. She'd worn it to cover her skin- all of her skin. _

_Isabelle yanked hard on the whip, securing it. Her smiled glittered like poisonous water. "He's all yours, boys."_

_A low laugh sounded behind him, and now there were hands on him, hauling him upright, throwing him against one of the concrete pillars. He could feel the damp stone under his back. His hands were pulled behind him, his wrists bound with wire. As he struggled, someone walked around the side of the pillar into his view: a teenage boy, as young as Isabelle and even prettier. His tawny eyes glittered like gold coins. "So," the young man said. "Are there any more with you?"_

_The blue-haired boy could feel blood welling up under the too-tight metal, making his wrists slippery. "Any other what?"_

_"Come on now." The tawny-eyed boy held up his hands, and his dark sleeves slipped down, showing the runes inked all over his wrists, the backs of his hands, his palms. "You know what I am."_

_Far back inside his skull, the shackled boy's second set of teeth began to grind._

_"_Shadowhunter_," he hissed._

_The other boy grinned all over his face. "Got you," he said._

I reached the door and put my hand on the doorknob, having slight second thoughts. Then again, what did I have to lose? What was the worst possible outcome, walking in on a foursome or something? That would be embarrassing, maybe, but I would at least walk away with a hilarious story to tell.

So I opened the door with my 'arrogant face' on (it never left, actually) and for about a millisecond I thought no one was inside. Where did they go?

The few windows were up high and barred, like the ones in a prison cell. It was all dusty and reeked of decaying paint and I was about to turn around and go back to Simon and Maddie when I saw the recent-looking shoe prints in the dust on the floor.

I felt abruptly curious, so I followed the tracks with my eyes until I saw the people I was following.

It was almost like they had appeared out of nowhere. The girl in the silly white dress. The two boys dressed in black- the tall one with black hair, and the ever-so-slightly shorter blonde.

The blonde stalker stood with his hands in his pockets facing the 'vampire hunter'. And for whatever reason, the 'vampire hunter' was tied to a support pillar with what looked like piano wire, his hands stretched behind him, his legs bound at the ankles. His face betrayed fear… and pain.

There was something curious about that blonde. His hair shone like polished gold in the meager lighting, and that immediately caught my attention. Upon further inspection, I noted that his eyes were even more intriguing, as they were an almost identical shade of gold. How was that possible? His skin tone betrayed that he spent quite a bit of time outside, and peeking out from his shirt, I could see black… tattoos? He had a uniquely square jaw, but not as square as the typical French kind, like I had. Quite an interesting face, I had to admit.

Still, what was going on? Bondage or something? I knew that some people had twisted ideas of what to do in the summer, but this was taking it a bit far. But I couldn't leave, because the black-haired guy was looking directly at the door. Ugh. I'd have to stay, and probably watch them all hook up, the losers.

Luckily for me, none of the bondage enthusiasts/stalkers saw me. I had just enough time to duck behind a shelf full of boxes and cables, and cautiously edge my face out to see them better. The blonde young man was pacing, his arms crossed over his chest. Most people paced when nervous, I knew, but this guy didn't look nervous. There was some sort of morbid excitement there, which was moderately strange. "So," he said. "You still haven't told me if there are any others of your kind with you."

_Your kind?_ Perhaps this wasn't some bondage scene where a foursome was going to occur soon. My mind jumped to gangs, but it just didn't seem to fit.

"I don't know what you're talking about," insisted the blue-haired boy, his voice pained but nonetheless surly.

"He means other demons," said the black-haired boy, speaking for the first time. "You do know what a demon is, don't you?"

The tied-up one jerked his face in a different direction, silently muttering to himself.

"Demons," the blonde said lazily, tracing the word on the air with a finger. He was _acting_ like he couldn't care less about the situation, but I could still see how excited he was. "Religiously defined as hell's denizens, the servants of Satan, but understood here, for the purpose of the Clave, to be any malevolent spirit whose origin is outside our home dimension-" What the _fizz_ was that guy talking about? Okay, so maybe this bondage-loving stalker was also officially crazy. Maddie and Simon would get a kick out of _this_.

The girl cut him off. "Come on, Jace. Stop being a naughty boy and beating around the bush. Just kill it already." Hmm, what an odd name, _Jace_. Sounded like something that belonged on a mushy soap opera.

"Isabelle's right," agreed the taller boy. "Nobody here needs a lesson in semantics- or demonology."

Were they all living in a fantasy world? Getting too over-enthusiastic with their cosplay? Acting out a scene or something?

Jace raised his head abruptly and smiled. There was just something fierce and almost dangerous about that gesture, like the footage of lions that I'd seen on _Animal Planet_ on one of the billions of documentaries I'd watched before. Either way, it was a very leonine sort of move, like lions when they first sniff their prey. "Isabelle and Alec think I talk too much," he said as if telling a secret. "Do _you_ think I talk too much?"

_'_I_ think you talk too much_,' I resisted the impulse to say. I nearly did and even opened my mouth to do so, but swallowed my words at the last moment. I didn't want to give away my position.

The 'vampire hunter' said nothing. He was still moving his mouth, and I wondered what he was thinking. Probably something along the lines of, '_Maybe we shouldn't have acted this out right now. We should have waited until tomorrow, and Jace didn't even bring his video camera so we could film it and post it on YouTube and intimidate everyone with our mad acting skillz.'_ Oh, yeah. He was definitely thinking that.

Even if he was thinking that, he said nervously, "I could give you information. I know where Valentine is." I almost giggled. All these idiots had such stupid sounding names. Then again, I was one to talk. I was Catherine Renee Fray.

Jace glanced back at the other boy, who I assumed to be the 'Alec' he had mentioned earlier, who just shrugged. "Valentine's in the ground," Jace said to no one in particular. "The thing's just toying with us."

This was definitely a weird anime they were acting out. But they didn't have very Japanese-sounding names, so whatever.

I guessed the girl was Isabelle, and she flipped her hair over her shoulder. "Get rid of it, Jace," she said. "It's not going to tell us anything."

Whoa, were they acting out a murder sequence? Hmm. I wondered what they would do to make it look like the kid was going to die.

That Jace character raised his hand, and light bounced off his fancy knife. The blade was weirdly see-through, like glass, but it looked sharp, the hilt set with red stones.

The bound 'vampire hunter' gasped. "Valentine is back!" he protested, squirming in his tied-up state. "All the Infernal Worlds know it- I know it- I can tell you where he is-"

Jace's eyes grew instantly menacing, and I was struck by what a great job acting all these people were doing. It actually seemed like they were going to murder the boy in the stupid costume! "By the Angel," what an odd curse, "every time we capture one of you bastards, you claim you know where Valentine is. Well, we know where he is too. He's in hell. And you-" Jace turned the knife in his grasp, the edge sparking like a line of fire. "You can _join him there_." Something in his voice and posture and just his facial _expression_ told me right then that he wasn't acting. Not even the best actor in the world could match the ferociousness of how he wielded that knife.

I casually stepped out from behind the storage shelf and said inquisitively, "Um... what are you doing?"

Jace whirled around to face me, so taken aback that he dropped his knife, a strange expression across his face. Isabelle and Alec turned along with him, wearing identical expressions of astonishment. The 'vampire hunter' hung in his bonds, stunned and gaping.

All right then. They were upset that I had intruded. Oh well, that was their fault. "You know, murder isn't exactly an acceptable social practice in this day and age." I pondered my own statement, amused at how shocked they all were. "It may have been awhile ago;" I said contemplatively, "in fact, it was a part of basically a coming-of-age ceremony for male Spartans, but-"

Alec cut me off. "What's this?" he demanded, dumbfounded, looking at his companions.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Did you just interrupt me?" I asked flatly.

Jace recovered the usage of his voice, and said, "It's a girl. Surely, you've seen girls before, Alec. Isabelle and Raven are girls, and you live with them." He approached me hesitantly, squinting like he couldn't believe I was there. The pretentious moron. "A mundie girl," he said, half to himself. "And she can see us." Arrogance practically _dripped_ off his blonde head, but there was a weird sort of emotion in his eyes.

"What, may I ask, is a _mundie_?" I said, matching his tone. It had some sort of a derogatory inflection to how he said it, so I wasn't going to let it slide.

"It's what you are," said Jace, picking up his knife and straightening up. "You'd better get out of here, if you know what's good for you." His voice was low and distinctly masculine, like his obvious muscles, although his face betrayed that he couldn't have been more than a few years older than I was.

Despite the circumstances, I stared coldly into his gold eyes and smirked. "Is that a threat?" I said, making it look like I was entertained by the mere thought. Well, actually, I _was_. Being arrogant was fun, and a definite lifestyle choice of mine.

"It is if you need it to be to make you leave," interjected Alec. This one of the boys was tall, taller even than the pretentious blondie. He had black, shaggy hair that looked like he'd cut it himself (not very well) that hung in his eyes, yet he somehow worked it. Probably because he not-so-vaguely resembled a girl, albeit a pretty girl, but still a girl. The feminine quality was all there in his soft features, his piercing, expressive blue eyes. That were looking right at me. Angrily, might I add. He looked almost exactly like the black-haired girl in the stupid dress, so I figured they _had_ to be closely related.

"I'm not going anywhere." I yawned, and brushed some hair behind my ear. "I feel like staying here. Now, can I ask what you're doing?" No one answered me. "Fine, have it your way. Stay silent. It makes you seem _so much tougher_. So intimidating. I'm practically quaking in my hi-tops." I coated my words with blatant sarcasm.

"Just ignore the pretty mundie, Jace," coached Isabelle, not looking at me. "Kill that demon so we can leave."

"Kill?" I said, clicking my tongue and shaking my head slightly. "That's not very nice."

Jace twirled his knife between his fingers, studying me very carefully. "Why should you care if I kill him or not?"

"I don't," I admitted, "except for the fact that killing things is always thought of as _bad_. Or haven't you graduated from preschool yet?" I bestowed upon the small group a beatific smile. "Killing people is illegal, but I bet you already know that."

"You're right," said Jace. "You can't go around killing _people_." He pointed at the 'vampire hunter', whose eyes were shut. I wondered vaguely if he had passed out. "That's not a person, little girl. It may look like a person and talk like a person and maybe even bleed like a person. But it's a monster."

I highly doubted that, and considered if they were taking their cosplay too seriously again. "_Jace_," Isabelle said warningly. "Stop it."

"Look, blondie," I said, getting fed up at the teenagers, but especially Jace, so I directed my oncoming rant at him. "My name isn't _little girl_. What are you, like two years older than me? You wouldn't want me calling you 'old man', now would you, blondie?" My anger was starting to boil, and I knew that if my anger wasn't assuaged soon that I would fly off the handle.

He raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth to say something, but never got to. Which was a shame for him, because I understood that Jace loved the sound of his own voice just as much as I loved my own. At that moment, the blue-haired boy, with a high, yowling cry, tore free of the restraints binding him to the pillar and flung himself on Jace. Ah, so he apparently hadn't passed out.

They fell to the ground and rolled together (which the twins would definitely think was a perverted sentence), the blue-haired boy tearing at Jace with hands that glittered as if tipped with metal. I felt the impulse to run away, but I tripped on a loop of wiring and fell down. Isabelle was shrieking like a banshee, which was seriously giving me a headache. I rolled over and saw the blue-haired boy sitting on Jace's chest (another perverted sentence!). Blood gleamed at the tips of his razor-like claws.

I rather wanted to help, but my laziness took over. Moreover, what was I supposed to do, overexert myself by trying to wrench that 'vampire hunter' from straddling someone I didn't even really know (yet _another_ perverted sentence! I was on a roll!)? No, thank you!

But Isabelle and Alec were running towards them, Isabelle brandishing a whip in her hand. Where did _that_ come from? The blue-haired boy slashed at Jace with claws extended. Jace threw an arm up to protect himself, and the claws raked it, splattering blood. It was a good thing that I had recently gotten over being squeamish, or I might have thrown up.

The 'vampire hunter' lunged again, and Isabelle's whip came down across his back. He shrieked and fell to the side. Ouch.

Swift as a flick of Isabelle's whip, Jace rolled over. There was a blade gleaming in his hand. So, naturally, he sank the knife into the blue-haired boy's chest. Blackish liquid exploded around the hilt. Blech. The boy arched off the floor, gurgling and twisting. With a grimace, Jace stood up. His black shirt was blacker now in some places, wet with blood. He looked down at the twitching form at his feet, reached down, and yanked out the knife. The hilt was slick with black fluid. Again, I say, _blech_.

The 'vampire hunter's' eyes flickered open. Fixed on Jace, they seemed to burn. He hissed between his teeth, "_So be it. The Forsaken will take you all."_

Jace snarled, and again I thought of a lion. The boy's eyes rolled back. His body began to jerk and twitch as he crumpled, folding in on himself, growing smaller and smaller until he vanished entirely.

Okay... can you say, "_Creepy_?"

I jumped to my feet, stepping clear of the electrical wiring. None of them was looking at me, so maybe I could make a quick getaway… Alec was bent over Jace, tending to his injuries or something, so I started to take a few steps back towards the door...

And found a certain girl in a dumb-looking dress blocking my way, still brandishing her whip. She had the nerve to flick it at me.

"Whoa," I gasped, narrowly evading it. "What was that for?" I yelled at her. "I didn't do _anything_, so why are you attacking me? I'm just trying to leave, so get out of my way!"

"Stupid little mundie," Isabelle said through her teeth. "You could have gotten Jace killed, distracting him like that."

I thought about that, and then shot back, "No, it's not my fault. He didn't have to listen to me, now did he? You _vigilante killers_ could have just _gone on _with what you were doing and completely ignored me, but _noooo_, you just _have_ to blame me for something I had absolutely _nothing_ to do with..." I let it trail off, and just stared at her.

"I guess you're right," Isabelle mused, looking at me like I had a third eye in the middle of my forehead or something similar. "You're very persuasive, you know that?" She added over her shoulder to the boys, "I like this mundie. Can we keep her? She's so… cute and fun-sized."

I pretended not to be disturbed by the last part of her monologue. "Of course I know that," I snapped, answering her question. "And out of curiosity, how would the police react to this little _scene_?" I folded my arms across my chest.

"The police aren't usually interested unless you can produce a body," said Jace, cradling his arm and making his way towards me. Alec followed him, a sour expression on his face.

"I know, _habeas corpus_," I said in Latin. 'You must produce the body.'

While I studied the ground where the 'vampire hunter' was killed (there wasn't even a smear of blood), Jace said in a surprised tone, "You know Latin?"

"_Yes_, I know Latin," I retorted. "I studied it in school for years." I glanced again at the floor, and asked, "And where did his body go?"

"Demons return to their home dimension when they die," Jace said automatically. I still doubted their ridiculous talk of demons, but something in my mind screamed that he was telling the truth.

"Jace," Alec hissed. "Be careful."

Jace looked at him, almost in a resigned way. "She can see us, Alec. She already knows too much." A ghoulish freckling of blood marked his face. He still reminded me of a lion, with his wide-spaced, curiously gold eyes, and that tawny hair. A lion fresh back from the kill.

"Why do you people keep talking about how I can see you and that's a bad thing? Have you all deluded yourselves into thinking that you're invisible?" I demanded.

"Don't say _anything_, Jace," commanded Isabelle in her slightly low-pitched airhead-voice.

He smirked and said in a spiteful tone, "_Anything_," and I somewhat admired that. It was something that I'd usually do.

Alec brought attention back to me, and looked me over as if I was a peculiarly large type of insect that he wanted to squish. "What should we do with the mundane?"

Was 'mundane' synonymous with 'Muggle' from Harry Potter? I must admit, I was quite the HP freak, and they sounded similar.

"Let her go," Jace said quietly, carefully gazing at me. Isabelle shot him a surprised, almost angry look, but didn't argue. She slithered out of the way of the door, allowing me easy access. But I didn't move, just in case she'd strike again with her stupid whip. Who knew if I could dodge a second time? Great reflexes can only get a person so far.

"Maybe we should bring her back with us," Alec said. "I bet Hodge would like to talk to her." Who was Hodge supposed to be?

"No way are we bringing her to the Institute," said Isabelle. So they lived in a psychiatric ward? I'd have never guessed based solely off their crazy behavior. The real question was why they were allowed outside if they _did_ live at an institute. "She's a _mundie_." And was 'mundie' a corrupted form of 'mundane?'

"Or is she?" said Jace softly. His quiet tone was getting me really, really annoyed for whatever reason. "Have you had dealings with demons, little girl? Walked with warlocks, talked with the Night Children? Have you-"

"I thought we talked about this already, blondie," I chastised. "My name is _not_ little girl, and I don't even know why you're calling me it. Is it because you're taller than me? Well, that's not _my_ fault. And besides that, I don't even have any idea of what you're talking about." But at the same time... I kind of _did_ understand what he was saying. Something was horribly wrong in my mind. That was the answer! Maybe I did need to live at that institute after all...

"Carrie?" It was Simon's voice. I whirled around. He was standing by the storage room door, Maddie flanking him. "You okay?"

Maddie peered around. "Why the hell are you in here by yourself? Simon got all worried about you and forced me to help him look."

I stared at the twins, and then looked behind me at Jace, Alec, and Isabelle. Jace, still in his bloody shirt with his knife in his hand. He grinned at me (a grin that I didn't return, thank you very much) and dropped a half-apologetic, half-mocking salute. Clearly he wasn't surprised that neither Simon nor Maddie could see them. I briefly glared at him, putting as much revulsion into it as I could, and then went back to facing Maddie and Simon.

I smiled at them, a far cry from my look of loathing I just shot Jace, saying, "No reason. Just curious as to why it was marked NO ADMITTANCE." I did a quick sweep of the place, playing my part very well. "I was just about to leave, anyway. There's _nothing exciting_ going on in here. It's a really _ugly_ place to be in, you know?" The way I said it was so that Jace could get my message that I thought him unexciting and ugly (which was, unfortunately, a lie, but whatever).

Maddie rolled her eyes at me, and took a lick of a newly opened lollipop, by the looks of it. "Well, come on, it's getting late."

Behind me, Isabelle giggled raucously.

"I don't believe it," Simon told me stubbornly as Maddie tried desperately to hail a cab.

"I know," I said, "there should be at least some open cabs right now. It's not even midnight yet."

"Not the cabs," Simon said in an offended tone. "You- I don't believe you. Why did you just take off like that?"

"Oh, Simon," I sighed. "I'm so glad that you care about me like you do, but I am allowed to talk to people, aren't I? It's not against the law." I silently watched Maddie for a few seconds, how she furiously tried to flag down our ride.

Simon just looked at me, which made me mildly uncomfortable. "I don't know, Carrie. I saw your face when we came into that storage room. You looked seriously freaked out, like you'd seen a ghost."

My thoughts drifted to Jace, with his bizarrely golden eyes. He must have been one heck of a hit with the Twilight fans of the world (of which I was not one).

Simon was wrong. I hadn't quite seen a ghost, but I had witnessed my first murder, and met three potentially crazy (and invisible) teenage killers. Greeeat.

"I was just looking around!" I insisted. I knew why I wasn't planning on telling him or Maddie what had really happened: there was just something- something about the black blood around Jace's knife, something about his voice when he'd said _Have you talked with the Night Children?_ that I wanted to keep to myself.

"Well, stop poking your nose in everywhere," Simon said. "Keep it up and they'll never let us back in."

"I know. It's a good thing, right? Maybe I should explore more often," I half-joked.

"Maybe, except then Maddie would maul both of us," he reminded me.

"True."

A yellow shape sped toward Maddie through the fog, and finally screeched to a halt, the driver beeping his horn as if he needed our attention.

"Finally we get lucky!" exclaimed Maddie, gesturing for us to follow her. "Well, what the hell is taking you guys? Let's go already." As I climbed into the plastic-covered seat that smelled of old leather and hairspray, she told the driver, "We're going to Brooklyn, okay?"

Simon said to me while Maddie conversed with the driver, "You can tell me anything, Carrie."

"I know," I said, looking out the window. "I know I can." But that didn't mean that I had to.

And the cabdriver stepped on the accelerator, so the taxi took off into the night.


	2. Chapter 2

**THE NEW AND MUCH IMPROVED EFFORT OF THIS CONCEPT (changing _City of Bones_ by Cassandra Clare for the better) IS FINALLY UP. FIND IT ON MY PROFILE AS SIMPLY _City of Bones_. I'VE WORKED LONG AND HARD ON IT AND I HOPE YOU'LL ALL ENJOY IT.**

******Love,  
>I Suffer From Hubris<strong>  
><strong>**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Two: Secrets and Lies<strong>

_The lovely heroine, "Eirrac", looked from her gay friend and his twin to the oddly tiger-like boy she had just met and back again. She was quite obviously confused as to why "Nomis" and "Eiddam" couldn't see "Ecaj" but decided that the situation was hopeless, anyway. So, without a backwards glance, "Eirrac" left the room with the gay "Nomis" and his twin "Eiddam", and-_

"And this has to be the dumbest story I've ever written," I muttered to myself in exasperation, tearing out the entire page and crumbling it up. I definitely wasn't 'in-the-zone' for writing, especially when it came to scribbling out what basically happened the night before. My mini garbage can for my room was almost full of epic fails I'd written over the past morning. It didn't help that my brain wasn't working and therefore wasn't thinking of names I could use, so I had just tried spelling the actual ones backwards, but... It just ended up sounding stupid.

I glanced around my bedroom for inspiration, my eyes catching the four differently-colored walls. Lavender, lime green, sky blue, and the mandatory pink that Jocelyn, my mother, had forced me to have in reparation for allowing me to decorate my room to my liking. I had made sure that the pink wall was the smallest one, the most cluttered with posters of Harry Potter and the Beatles and a picture I'd drawn the year before in Religion class of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead. It was an amazing, cartoony sort of picture, white with outlines in black permanent marker, the only color being Jesus' halo, a highlighter yellow. I'd drawn myself, Maddie, and Simon into the picture along with figures from Harry Potter and such, as Jesus' 'disciples'.

There was one actual painting in my room, propped up against the wall behind my door. It was moderately beautiful, and by my mother. It was another part of the agreement, like my pink wall. I couldn't paint well (my expertise was in cute cartoon drawings), so I guess I envied the woman a little bit. Not too much, though, because I was quite obviously more gifted in the literature department. And the intelligence department. Naturally.

Just then, a very annoyed gray-and-black striped cat clambered on top of my notebook and nudged my hand so that I would pet him. "Hey there, Philip," I cooed to my pet, scratching him behind his ears and petting him as I listened to Romanian pop music. Philip was just over a year old, and was the single best pet cat in the history of ever. He stared at me with big blue cat-eyes like he wanted something, so I lifted him onto my shoulder and decided to throw in the towel for today when it came to writing.

I pulled my headphones out, giving up- and cutting the Romanian pop group O-zone off mid 'Dragostea Din Tei'- and stretched, Philip still perched on my shoulder. It was only then that I realized the phone was ringing, so I immediately leapt to my feet, steadying Philip with an arm so that he wouldn't fall off, and sprinted into the pink, cream, and red, girly living room, answering it. "Talk to me," I said into it in a bored tone.

"_Is this Catherine Fray?_" The voice on the other end of the phone sounded familiar, but I couldn't quite assign it to someone I knew. There was also a tinny quality to it, like it was on speakerphone on that end.

"Possibly," I said, throwing myself on the couch. "Then again, possibly not."

"_Hi, I'm one of the black-wearing hooligans you met last night in Pandemonium? I'm afraid I made a bad impression and was hoping you'd give me a chance to make it up to-_"

It was Simon, the nerd. I bet Maddie was part of it, too. I wordlessly hung up the phone, and just sat there, counting to myself, "4... 3... 2... 1..."

Mid-'one', the phone rang again. "What do you want?" I said.

Two voices cracked up on the other end, and I could easily picture the twins rolling around on the floor as they giggled.

"So not funny, guys," I said, but I grinned anyway.

"_Yes it is_!" insisted Maddie, barely suppressing laughter while Simon continued to be hysterical. "_You just don't see the humor_!"

"You guys are such nerds," I said affectionately. "Now did you want anything important, or just to annoy the fizz out of me?"

"_Annoying you _is_ important_," insisted Simon, before collapsing in giggles again. "_How are you not laughing_?"

"I'm in a sour mood," I confessed, twirling the red phone cord around my finger absentmindedly and petting my cat. "You should have seen Jocelyn last night." Jocelyn, my mother. I only called her by her first name because I knew it irked her, and I took great pleasure in irking my unfortunate mother. "It was awful."

"_How so_?" inquired Maddie. I was used by now to the three-way conversations we had, with them on speakerphone. Usually, such chitchats would last for hours on end, by which time Jocelyn would start shrieking at me.

"She wasn't happy that we were late, or something utterly ludicrous like that." I had stopped paying attention after the first minute, actually, and blankly stared at a point in the wall to the left of her head while she had a hissy fit.

"_What? It's not our damn fault there was traffic_!" protested Maddie.

"I know, I know," I told them. "But the woman doesn't see it that way. I _disappointed_ her, I made her _worry_, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. I am the _replica_ of my _horrible father_." I mimicked her exact phrasing with a mocking edge, since I didn't take Jocelyn seriously at all.

"_You grounded_?" Simon asked, a little too loudly, so I assumed from his tone that Maddie was poking him or something. Apparently, I was right because he snapped at her, "_Will you cut that out?_"

"Course not," I said, answering his question. "She left early this morning with Luke, and they're not back yet. What are you guys doing, anyway?"

"_Simon just finished practice with his _band," said Maddie.

"Anything accomplished?" I doubted it.

"_Nope._" Maddie was their unofficial manager, basically because she showed up with Simon at every one of their practices and ridiculed- I mean "gave constructive criticism to"- the band.

"_Eric's doing a poetry reading at Java Jones tonight_," interjected Simon in a strangled voice, naming a lame coffee shop around the corner from my apartment that had the occasional poetry slam. That night must have been one of them. "_The whole band's going to show their support. Want to come_?"

I hated the other members of his band, especially Eric.

"Not really, but I assume you guys are going to drag me anyway," I sighed. "Maybe I can read a poem or something." I did have a few poems written, after all. They weren't any good, but no poems _were_ at a poetry slam.

"_That's a good idea_," said Maddie. "_I'll read one, too_."

A thought struck me. "Wait, I'm not sure if you guys should come over to get me. Jocelyn's pretty steamed at me right now," I said contemplatively.

Simon laughed a little. "_Carrie Fray, when has that ever stopped you from going anywhere before_?"

"Never," I admitted modestly. It made me recall my eighth-grade field trip to Washington, D.C. Jocelyn hadn't wanted me to go, but I had deliberately disobeyed her and had pawned off a few of her knickknacks that she bought at yard sales to finance my trip. "You're right, I'll just sneak out when she isn't looking if she doesn't want to let me go. Even if Eric can't write poetry to save his life."

"_Come on, it's not so bad_," Simon said. Eric lived next door to them, and they'd kind of hung out occasionally. They weren't all that close, but had formed a rock band together when they started high school (a year ahead of me, for the record), along with Eric's friends Matt and Kirk. They congregated faithfully in Eric's garage every week and 'practiced', even though Simon appeared to be scared to death of him. "_Besides, it's a poetry slam around the block from your house. It's not like I'm inviting you to some orgy in Hoboken. Your mom can come along if she wants_." Gross, kill me before that would ever happen. I didn't want my dimwitted mother throwing off my groove in public.

"_ORGY IN HOBOKEN!_" Maddie yelled suddenly, for some reason. "_That would make a great band name_!"

"No thanks, Simon, I don't feel like inviting Undesirable Maternal Unit. Maybe you guys can show up here later and the three of us can walk there."

"_Good idea_," said Maddie. "_See you then_."

"Yep," I said, hanging up and glancing around the living room.

Jocelyn's questionable 'style' was all over the area, the entire place colored in annoying shades of red, pink, and white. Valentine's Day themed, as I had often suggested to her before being met by shrieks of protests and being warned to, "never say that again!" The couch was overstuffed and dark red. The back and arms of it were covered with pink marabou, which unfortunately matched the couch's throw pillows, heart-shaped, pale pink things overlaid with cream-colored lace and, naturally, edged with the same pink marabou, along with anything else in the room that had a definitive, somewhat flat side to it. It was one of my mother's side projects, making everything pink and frilly. The picture frames and the coffee table, all a light cream color, were laced with the stuff. The pictures themselves were painted by Jocelyn, the ones that didn't sell. Landscapes, her usual subject. Brilliant scenery I'd never seen in my life. The walls were hot pink, accented perfectly by the shoddy, handmade curtains, which were made of, you guessed it, pink marabou, along with tinsel. The lighting was atrocious, lit by candles, so dim that I could barely read even in broad daylight (thanks to the constantly drawn curtains). I was surprised that the place hadn't gone up in flames yet, all the marabou catching on fire. Ah, that sight would be _delicious_.

Over the cream, glittered fireplace, resting on the mantel on top of one of the countless doilies that littered the area was a lone picture of my dead father in a picture frame edged with pink frilly marabou, like everything else. To say it simply, I looked nothing like him (I looked nothing like Jocelyn, either). He was a thoughtful-looking man in military dress, and it was obvious from the picture that he smiled a lot. He was a decorated soldier serving overseas, so Jocelyn had some of his medals in a small box near her bed. Not that his fancy military position had helped him when Jonathan Clark crashed his car and died in Albany even before I was _born_. I almost resented the guy, since he left little unborn me with a crazy person for a mother.

My mother had gone back to using her maiden name after he died. She never even mentioned him, but kept the box that proclaimed his initials, J.C., next to her bed. With a few medals were one or two photos (that she'd never let me see, naturally), a wedding ring, and a single lock of blonde hair. Sometimes, she took the box out and held the lock of hair very gently in her hands, shedding tears over it, before carefully locking the box up again. I liked my mother best when she was mourning my dead father, since it proved that she actually had a heart and wasn't an emotionless zombie. Even though the hair thing was kind of creepy and all.

The sound of a key turning in the front door jarred me to my senses, so I hastily grabbed a nearby book, opened to a random page, and began fake-reading. Not that it would stop Jocelyn, of course, but it was worth a try.

The door opened with a loud thump, heavy footsteps entering the house, much too heavy to belong to my mother. It was Luke, his arms full of flattened cardboard boxes. He set them down on an end table and turned to me with a smile.

"Sup, Wolverine?" I said vaguely. Luke was a nice guy, but I constantly poked fun at his facial hair since it was so ridiculous and _so_ copied from Wolverine. "What happened to Jocelyn?" I was unconcerned, the perfect attitude for my don't-bug-me-I'm-reading facade. The truth was that I just didn't care about her all that much.

"Parking the truck," he said, stretching his lanky frame with a groan. He was dressed as he always did: ratty jeans, flannel shirt, bent gold-rimmed glasses askew on his nose. He almost reminded me of an older version of Simon, except more grizzled and obsessed with my mother. "Remind me again why this building has no service elevator?" I swung Philip off my shoulder and into my lap, petting him whilst I conversed with the Wolverine. Philip hated Luke for unknown reasons, and got all edgy whenever the man was nearby, so I tried to calm him down.

"I ask myself the same question every day, Luke," I reminded him. "Nag the woman who gave birth to me." I glanced briefly at the coffee table. "What are the boxes for?"

He was hesitant, and I could tell he was about to tiptoe around a situation without really telling me what was going on. Curse Jocelyn's non-boyfriend! "Your mother wanted to pack up some things," he said reluctantly, busying himself by stacking some books into a pile.

"What _things_?" I asked suspiciously.

He waved flippantly in my direction. "Extra stuff lying around the house. Getting in the way. You know she never throws anything out."

"Got that right," I muttered darkly. Jocelyn was a hoarder, and if it wasn't for me periodically chucking her stuff into the garbage, we'd be swimming in newspapers and knickknacks and rubbish she bought at yard sales.

"So, what are you up to? Studying?" He plucked the book right out of my hand rudely and read aloud: "_The world still teems with those motley beings whom a more sober philosophy has discarded. Fairies and goblins, ghosts and demons, still hover about-"_ He lowered the book and studied me over his glasses. "Is this for school?"

"Yes," I lied, looking him straight in the eye. "Summer reading. I'm allowed to do my summer reading a few weeks before school starts again, aren't I?" I finished accusingly.

He grunted. "I assumed it was your mother's."

I shrugged, "Yeah, I borrowed it since it was on my summer reading list and I saw it just _lying there_ around the house, looking all lonely and such... You wouldn't want me to abandon a book in its hour of need, now would you, Luke?" I prided myself on my persuasive skills and top notch lying.

"Alright, alright," he said with a panicked look he reserved for whenever I was being persuasive, so I smiled to myself. Bulls-eye. "It's an odd book for your school to assign."

"I know, right?" I grinned. "It's practically torturous." But inside, I was considering the passage he'd read to me. What that book was about was basically what Jace, Alec, and Isabelle had been talking about. Maybe-

But my thoughts were cut off and I lost my train of thought all because of my _mother_. She sauntered into the room, throwing a pair of car keys at Luke, and turned to look at me.

So I looked at her. Jocelyn Fray was a slim, compact woman, her hair a dark, almost blackish brown that brushed her shoulders. At the moment, it was twisted up in an ashy knot, struck through with a graphite pen and what looked like a used chopstick to hold it in place. She wore paint-spattered, light blue overalls over a lavender T-shirt, and ugly brown hiking boots that were caked in paint and possessed narrow strips of pink marabou instead of shoelaces. No way, _Jose_, I had definitely not inherited my mother's lack of fashion sense. Instead, I dressed (according to Maddie) like an "artsy-fartsy college student".

People sometimes told me that I looked like her, which I took as an unforgivable insult to my person (and verified my lack of faith in humanity, because I honestly looked nothing like the woman, even behind the "cosmetic procedures"). Jocelyn was practically addicted to Botox treatments, so much so that her face currently looked like a pasty water balloon. She constantly had a crazed look in her sapphire eyes and (thanks to the Botox) a one-size-fits-all expression on her face. I judged her emotions based solely on how much her face muscles were fighting the Botox, since it was disgusting yet entertaining. Disgustingly entertaining, perhaps? Anyway, the only thing that was similar between that woman and me was our figures: slender, with small chests and narrow hips, although I was several inches shorter. Most people considered Jocelyn to be beautiful, but I personally couldn't see it. She tried far too much to _be_ beautiful, and that's what made her ugly. People always told me how doll-like I looked, how innocent (looks are deceiving, I'll tell you), how delicate. With nearly translucent skin, dainty and finely boned features, and overly large gray eyes, apparently I could be considered the porcelain doll to my mother's messed-up Barbie.

"Thanks for bringing the boxes up," Jocelyn said to Luke in her super-high, obnoxious voice, and smiled at him. He gave her a sour expression in return, which meant that something was up! Detective Carrie Fray to the rescue!... Not. "Sorry that it took me so long to find a space. There must be a million people at the park today-"

I interrupted her, purposefully impolite. "Hey, Jocelyn, what's with all the boxes?"

Her face twitched at me, but she couldn't scowl anymore. Luke jerked his chin in my direction, urging her on, so she hesitantly sat next to me on the couch.

I scooted over, and she just followed me, the creeper. I noted how tired she looked, the lilac circles under her eyes and the dazed, half-asleep glaze in them.

"Is this about last night?" I asked flatly. Why did she look so tired?

"No," the woman said quickly, and then hesitated. "Okay, maybe a little. You shouldn't have done what you did last night. You-"

"What, exactly, did I do last night?" I inquired lazily. Jocelyn's face twitched again, like it did whenever she was about to remind me that I was "just like" my "horrible father".

She didn't, miraculously, but plowed on with her Annoying Speech. "I'm not grounding you, Carrie."

"Well, that's good, since you never have before." I rolled my eyes at her, bored by this conversation already.

"Just tell her," the Wolverine-wannabe coached, hurt evident in his eyes. So it looked like he was having bad memories, or something.

Jocelyn heaved a melodramatic sigh, eyes wandering off into the middle distance and then back to me. "We're going on vacation."

"Okay, and...?" I said, cleaning the slight dirt from underneath my long nails. "Your point?" She could go off and frolic with Luke if she wanted to. I wouldn't care less.

"I don't think you understand. I meant we're all going on vacation. The three of us- you, me, and Luke. We're going to the farmhouse." Bad grammar, but still…

"_What?_" I demanded. "For how long, exactly? Answer me, woman!" Even though I really was peeved at the situation, I greatly enjoyed talking down to dimwits like Jocelyn.

"For the rest of the summer," said my mother uneasily, eyes welling with tears. "I had Luke bring the boxes in case you wanted to pack up any books, writing supplies-"

"You can't be serious!" I yelled indignantly. "I can't just go off and _leave_ for the rest of the summer! What am I supposed to do out there, anyway? Rot in my boredom?" I turned to Luke. "Wolverine, you're a superhero, can't you _please_ cure this imbecile of her madness?"

Luke gazed out a window, deliberately not looking at me. "She's your mother. It's her decision to make."

"I have to get away, Carrie!" Jocelyn told me, trying to screw her face up so that she could burst into tears. "I need the peace, the quiet, to paint. And money is tight right now-"

"Then stop getting those stupid Botox injections!" I screamed at her. "We'd have plenty of money if you got a real job and _stopped getting plastic surgery!"_

Jocelyn recoiled from me. "That's hardly fair. It's what makes me happy."

"Fine, then, go! I'll stay here! I'm fifteen, Jocelyn, I can take care of myself-"

"No!" The sharpness in her voice surprised me. I was constantly patronizing and yelling at her, but she always played the role of the injured, simpering parent with the unruly child. She took a deep breath and said through her teeth, "You _are_ coming with us, Carrie. It isn't optional. You're too young to stay here on your own. Something could happen."

"Or what, _Mother_? What would the consequences be if I refused to listen to you, _Mother_?" I hissed, narrowing my eyes. "And besides, what about Philip, _Mother_? I can't just leave him here for weeks, he'll starve." Philip mewed suddenly, like he knew what I was talking about and did _not_ want that to happen. I petted him again, soothing him. Telling him that I wouldn't allow the crazy lady to force me to go without him.

There was a sudden crash. I found that Luke had oh-so-clumsily knocked over a framed picture of me from when I was eleven. Looking distinctly upset, he picked it up and set it back. When he stood up, his mouth was in a severe line. "I'm leaving."

Jocelyn bit her lip. "Wait!" She hurried after him into the entryway, catching up just as he seized the doorknob. Twisting around on the couch and deciding to eavesdrop, I caught the tail end of what she was hissing to Luke in an urgent, fierce whisper. "...Bane. I've been calling him and calling him for the past three weeks. His voice mail says he's in Tanzania. What am I supposed to do?" Who did my fugly mother know that was in Tanzania? What?

"Jocelyn." Luke shook his head. "You can't keep going to him forever." Apparently, they weren't aware that I was listening in.

"But Carrie-"

"Isn't Jonathan," Luke hissed. "You've never been the same since it happened, but Carrie _isn't Jonathan_."

What did my dead father have to do with it?

Luke continued, "And, despite what you may think, she isn't Va-"

"STOP IT!" Jocelyn cut him off, glancing at me frantically before continuing in her shaky, annoying, high-pitched voice, "I can't just keep her at home, not let her go out. She'd never put up with it." Sure as _Hades,_ no (I refused to curse, since I had far enough self-control to not speak swear words aloud. It was a bet of sorts with myself, if I could go a lifetime without swearing. So far, I was winning. I rarely swore mentally, but those occasions were only in extenuating circumstances).

"Of course she won't!" Luke sounded extremely angry. "She's not your pet, she's a teenager. Almost an adult." Hooray for the Wolverine! Maybe the day would be saved after all.

"If we were out of the city..." Jocelyn suggested hopelessly, wringing her hands.

"Talk to her, Jocelyn," Luke said firmly. "I mean it."

He lunged again for the doorknob, but the door flew open before he could grab it. Jocelyn screamed a little.

"Mother of mercy!" Luke exclaimed.

"Nope, just us," Maddie said cheerfully, her arm linked with Simon's. She saw my cat, and said excitedly, "Hi, Philip!" Philip meowed at her, and jumped out of my arms to run up to my friends and greet them.

Simon waved at me from the doorway, patting my cat on the head. "You ready, Carrie?"

Jocelyn took her hand away from her mouth. "Were you kids eavesdropping?"

They blinked. "No, we-" said Maddie.

"-just got here," finished Simon. Sometimes it was eerie how they were only fraternal twins but seemed to be able to read each other's minds. "Is something wrong?"

"Should we go?" suggested Maddie, looking from Jocelyn's pale face to Luke's grim one.

"Unnecessary," I told them, walking past my mother and the Wolverine. I grabbed my large, book-stuffed purse (what? I like to read) from the floor and joined them. "I'm coming, guys." I glared at my mother, and refused to look at Luke at all. "Goodbye, Jocelyn." I bent down near the ground and scratched my cat under his chin. "Bye, Philip! See you later, okay?"

That woman asked me pleadingly, "Carrie, don't you think we should talk about this?"

"Not at all," I said with a steely calm, looking her straight in the eye. "Then again... I'm sure we'll have plenty of time to talk and catch up on _vacation_." I smirked at her as she flinched and dragged my friends out the doorway with me.

"You're just like your horrible father," Jocelyn sniffled behind my back.

"Good," I said, pulling the twins by their arms.

Simon looked apologetically at Jocelyn. "Bye, Mrs. Fray! Have a nice evening!"

"Oh, shut _up_, Simon," Maddie and I snapped. I slammed the door behind me, cutting off my mother's reply. Served her right.

"Ow, you're going to rip my arm off," Simon whined as I resumed hauling them downstairs after me, my purple hi-tops slapping against the wooden stairs with every angry step.

"Whatever," I said darkly, releasing them. "I just feel like getting away from that _woman_ and the Wolverine as quickly as possible."

On my way off the stairs, I caught sight of the door of the downstairs tenant, an old woman who ran a psychic's shop out of her apartment. She hardly ever came out of it, even though she didn't exactly have the most booming business, if you know what I mean. A gold, fancy plaque on her door proclaimed her to be MADAME DOROTHEA, SEERESS AND PROPHETESS. Overcompensation, if you ask me.

I was gesturing wildly for Maddie and Simon to move faster when the door opened and a man stepped out. He was seriously tall, with maple-syrup colored skin, gold-green eyes like a cat's, and tangled black hair. He grinned blindingly at me, showing sharp white teeth.

And then... he disappeared. I felt suddenly nauseated, but inhaled deeply and felt better. What a strange imagination I had…

"Are you alright?" Maddie asked me uneasily. "You look like you're going to pass out."

I rolled my eyes. "Chock full of compliments, you are. I'm fine." And then I heard my stomach grumble, and realized that I'd skipped lunch. _Whoops_. "But I am incredibly hungry."

"Then let's go," said Simon, he and Maddie each sliding an arm around my shoulders. I evaded their grasps, with minor difficulty, settling on linking their arms through mine. "Come on, let's get some food."

"I can't believe she's being like this," I said through a mouthful of dry tortilla chips. "No, actually, I _can_, and it's sickening. How again am I related to that bag of nonsense?" The three of us were at a neighborhood Mexican joint, a hole in the wall called Nacho Mama. Outside one of the vast, dust-streaked windows, I saw a ginger frantically walking past. Somehow, she looked familiar… "As if wasting all her money on stupid _Botox_ injections wasn't enough and refusing to get a normal job and just being insufferable wasn't enough, she has to go and _exile_ me for the rest of the summer." I was so tense and angered that, when trying to pick up another chip, I slammed it down, cracking it into little bits.

"Well, you know that she gets that way sometimes," said Maddie.

"Like when she breathes in or out," Simon grinned, taking a huge bite of his veggie burrito.

"Not funny, moron," I said bitingly. "_You're_ not the one with a complete loser for a mother who can't even handle herself and tries to banish you to the middle of nowhere for _weeks on end_..." I disintegrated another chip.

"Well, at least _yours_ isn't a prostitute," Maddie retorted in all seriousness.

"_Carrie."_ Simon interrupted her, and I glared at him. But he actually went on, "We're not the ones you're mad at. Besides, it isn't going to be permanent."

"_Sure_ it isn't, Simon," I said in a patronizing tone. "Because you know so well."

"We know your mom, Carrie," said Maddie. "We've seen her erratic behavior for what, ten years?"

"Yeah," agreed Simon. "She gets like this sometimes, and will eventually get over it. You'll see."

I was struck for about the billionth time how much they looked alike, with their straight, dark brown hair, similar faces, and glasses. The main difference, however, was that Maddie's eyes were an icy blue and Simon's were dark brown. They both had relatively round faces and pouty lips. Maddie, however, slightly resembled a wolf, whereas Simon looked more like an eager puppy, perhaps a dingo. I picked at the straw of my Dr. Pepper and took a sip before saying, "I'm not so sure about that, that you guys know her. Sometimes I think no one knows the real Jocelyn."

"How so?" Maddie wondered curiously.

"She never tells me anything, to begin with. I know nothing about her early life, her family, or even all that much about my own 'horrible' dead _father_. The woman doesn't even have wedding pictures! It's like... her life started or something stupid like that when she had me. At least..." my expression darkened, "that's what she claims, anyway."

"That's kind of sweet," said Maddie, grimacing slightly.

"No, it's really not," I continued. "It's not sweet, it's full-out weird. I don't know a single thing about my grandparents, even their names. I know my dead father's parents were mean to her- who _wouldn't _be, really- but could they have been all that terrible that they didn't even want to meet their own granddaughter? They'd have to be just as stupid as her."

"Maybe she hates them," suggested Simon. "Maybe they were abusive or something. She does have those scars."

"What scars?" I said, staring at him. "I'm not aware that Jocelyn has any scars."

He said carefully, "Those little thin lines all over her back and her arms. I _have_ seen your mother in a bathing suit, you know."

"I've never seen any scars," I said. "Maddie, do you remember any?" Wouldn't I know if my own awful mother had _scars_ from something other than her countless cosmetic procedures?

She nodded and looked like she was going to say something when my little-used cell phone started insistently blaring a steady, trippy chorus of "I Am the Walrus". I fished it out and gazed at the numbers on the screen, throwing it back inside my bag.

"Ugh. Speak of the devil. It's Jocelyn." The phone stopped ringing, going to voicemail assumedly, and I felt slightly victorious. "I am not talking to that woman right now. Or ever, if possible."

"You can stay with us," offered Maddie, reaching across the table to mess up my hair, scratching my head like I did for Philip. "For as long as you want."

I smiled at them, and then the little beep that signified a new voicemail interrupted my thoughts. "I may as well get this over with," I frowned, pressing the voicemail button and listening to the banshee's voice. It sounded tense, but she was obviously trying to seem cheerful for whatever reason: "_Sweetheart, I'm sorry if I sprang the vacation plan on you. Come home and-_" I deleted the message, not even bothering to hear the rest. "Of course. She wants me to come home, and so is playing nice. I hate it when she gets all friendly. It's sickening." I preferred my mother acting normally- overreacting to my behavior so that I could get the satisfaction of driving her mad.

"You gonna call her?" asked Simon.

I just looked at him, and then smirked. "You kidding me? Why would I do that?"

Maddie glanced at her phone for the time, and then said, "C'mon, let's go. We don't want to be late."

And so we went. The air outside was humid, and I was once again reminded of how much I hated summer. As we walked by a group of teenage boys, they predictably stared at me, their mouths slightly agape. How... unattractive. Did they honestly think they could turn me on like _that_? Boys stared at me practically wherever I went and tried to flirt with me, but I constantly rejected them. I just didn't feel like going out with someone I met because he was staring at me. The whole action was creepy, since I didn't like being analyzed from afar by several different people who couldn't look away for whatever reason.

"So," I said, trying to make conversation, "what's up with the band? Still talking names?"

Simon's face lit up, and Maddie said, "Yep. They can't decide on anything, naturally."

"Oh, really?" I grinned, drawing the unwanted eyes of another random boy. Simon's band never actually produced any music, you see. Mostly they just sat around, fighting about potential names and band logos. I occasionally wondered if any of them even knew how to play any instruments. "What are you guys deciding on?"

"We're choosing between Sea Vegetable Conspiracy and Rock Solid Panda."

I raised an eyebrow. "Those are both terrible."

"Eric suggested Lawn Chair Crisis."

Maddie said, "I'm seriously going to suggest Orgy in Hoboken. It's hilarious, and just stupid enough to work."

"Maybe you guys should be The Band with No Name," I said, "and maybe Eric should stick to gaming."

"But then we'd have to find a new bassist!" they both insisted with scandalized looks.

"Oh, is _that_ what Eric does? I thought he just mooched money off of everyone and went around at school telling girls that he was in a band in order to impress them." My face twisted into a frown.

Maddie laughed. "You sound like you have personal experience."

"I do," I reminded her. "Last November. Thanksgiving break. Last time I went to one of your band practices, and for good reason." Eric, the moron, had actually tried to _force-kiss_ me, but I took care of business all by myself. And because of that, he'd been in the hospital for three and a half weeks, literally.

"Well, he's changed now," Simon said uneasily. "Eric has turned over a new leaf. He has a girlfriend. They've been going out for three months." What was he getting at?

He and Maddie silently exchanged a glance, and Maddie said, "You know, I think I'll be going up ahead. Getting us seats. Meet me there."

And before I could say anything, she had run up several paces and was at least a hundred feet away. "That was weird and uncalled for," I said.

"Which means," said Simon, seemingly ignoring me, "that I am the last member of the band _not_ to have a girlfriend. Which, you know, is the whole point of being in a band. To get girls." Was this hiding the fact that he was really gay, as I suspected?

"Sure it is," I said. "You keep telling yourself that, Simon. Who cares if you have a girlfriend, anyway?"

"I care," he said mournfully. "Pretty soon the only people left without a girlfriend will be me and Wendell the school janitor. And he smells like Windex."

"Hey," I told him with false happiness. "At least you know he's still available, right?"

He glared at me. "Not funny, Fray."

"You can always go for Sheila 'The Thong' Barbarino," I suggested, pretending to be helpful. It was fun to mess with Simon.

"That _is_ who Eric's been dating. His advice, meanwhile, is that I should just decide which girl in school has the most rockin' bod and ask her out on the first day of classes."

I felt uncomfortable with the conversation, for a reason I can't explain. "Eric is a sexist pig. Try that for your band name, The Sexist Pigs."

"It _does_ have a certain ring to it," he said, unfazed. I sent him a withering look, but my phone rang a second time.

"It's that woman again," I said, refusing to answer it. Except this time, I wasn't even going to listen to the voicemail she would undoubtedly leave. Simon was looking at me, concerned. I thought of how I was apparently going 'on vacation' and wouldn't see him or Maddie for weeks on end, and that motivated me to grab his hand and say, "Come on. We're going to be late for the show, and I've got the perfect poem to read."


	3. Chapter 3

**THE NEW AND MUCH IMPROVED EFFORT OF THIS CONCEPT (changing _City of Bones_ by Cassandra Clare for the better) IS FINALLY UP. FIND IT ON MY PROFILE AS SIMPLY _City of Bones_. I'VE WORKED LONG AND HARD ON IT AND I HOPE YOU'LL ALL ENJOY IT.**

******Love,  
>I Suffer From Hubris<strong>  
><strong>**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Three: Shadowhunter<strong>

When we got to Java Jones, a random ginger was at the microphone, giggling out her poem, smacking her lips unnecessarily at the end of each line and leaning in so close to the microphone that each one of her P's or B's popped obnoxiously. She was wearing obnoxious-looking yellow eye shadow and bright neon pink lipstick, and overall appeared to be stoned. Wait! This was the girl who was walking past Nacho Mama and, even more importantly, had been making a fool of herself dancing at Pandemonium! This was the same ginger!

"Ugh," I groaned to Simon once we stepped in. It covered my feelings for the redheaded poet and for how jam-packed the coffee shop was right now. Far too crowded for a Monday, filled to the doorways with teenagers sipping coffee and perching on threadbare couches. "I wonder if Maddie found seats." The girl onstage kept reading her poem (about death and leprechauns, oddly enough) and I realized that she was also speaking way too quickly and slurring her words together. "That ginger thing reading her poem is grating on my nerves."

"You complain a lot," Simon pointed out unnecessarily.

I laughed once. "As if I didn't know." I scanned the crowd, searching for Maddie. Where was she?

Simon seemed to be on the same mental wavelength, as he said, "I'll go look for Twin, okay?"

"You do that," I said in a bored tone. "I'll just be waiting right here. Alone." I was a social creature by nature, and didn't like being left behind, no matter how small the situation.

He didn't catch on to what I was hinting at, and chirped, "Alright! See you soon." And then he disappeared into the jungle of teenagers, leaving me awkwardly standing there near the doorway, doing nothing. I got bored after about a millisecond, so I crossed my arms, flipped some hair over my shoulder, and leaned against a wall, uninterestedly watching the annoying poet.

She finished her poem with a chipper, "Thank you, everyone!" and people snapped vaguely. I didn't snap at all, since her poem was terrible _and_ because I was just not the kind of person to snap at poetry slams. Oh no, I was far too cool for that. I caught some skater-type boys staring at me from nearby, and grimaced.

The next person ascended the stage, and began declaring a poem she wrote in Old English.

I was so distracted by the poem's ridiculous content and grammar mix-ups (she constantly confused "thee" and "thou", among other things) that I almost didn't notice Simon frantically beckoning me from across the room and Maddie trying to catch my attention. I grinned and rolled my eyes at them, weaving my way through the haphazardly arranged coffee shop.

And, of course, whilst on my merry way, the redheaded idiot/poet who read the poem about leprechauns and death side-checked me. I, startled, dodged after the initial impact (since she was just about to ram into me again, the dork), sending her flying onto the ground. "Oops," I said emotionlessly, stopping in my tracks and looking at her sprawled form.

She blew vibrant hair out of her face, and whined, "A little help here, please?"

"Why do you need help standing?" I inquired, still in the monotonous tone. She ignored me and stood up, brushing herself off. I noted her ugly green Skechers with distaste. Once she was still, I said, "Are you alright?"

"Just fine, not that you would care," she said in a spiteful kind of voice. I raised an eyebrow at her, and she said, "You could look where you're going, you know."

"You're the one who barreled into me," I pointed out. "Now, if you excuse me, my friends are waiting." I jerked my chin in my friends' direction. "So, I'll just be going..."

But she wouldn't let me through, and was staring open-mouthed at them. "Muhammad, he's _cute_."

"Simon?" I asked incredulously, wondering who could possibly think that good-ol' Simon was cute, and who would use Muhammad as an expletive.

"Yeah, the guy with the glasses." Her approach to me changed, and she grinned crazily at me. "I'm Clary."

"Hello, Clary," I said coldly, smirking at her dumb name. "Get out of my way."

But, alas, she did not. "Is he your boyfriend?"

"Thankfully, no." I glanced fretfully around me, looking for a way around Clary, but on either side of us were chatty teenagers.

"Is she his girlfriend?" Clary shrilled, gesturing frantically at Maddie.

"No, that would be incestuous," I informed her. She looked blankly at me. "She's his twin."

"Oh. Does he have a girlfriend?" she squealed excitedly.

I studied her. "I'm pretty sure he's gay, actually, so I don't think you have a chance." With that, I elbowed my way around her and speedily walked to my friends.

"What was that?" Maddie grinned, laughing.

"An obnoxious ginger thing named Clary who is, apparently, extremely turned on by Simon." Maddie roared with laughter.

Simon blinked for a couple seconds, before smoothing his hair and adjusting his glasses, looking over my shoulder in her direction. "Really?"

"Really," I said honestly. "But don't worry, I told her how you're gay."

"I'm not gay!" Simon insisted. "I like girls! Seriously!"

Maddie still smiled, her eyes on the floor. I noted that she was biting her lip, but didn't press the matter. She looked up, humor remaining in her eyes, and asked, "I'll go tell whoever's in charge of the poetry slam that you and I are going to read our poems, okay, Carrie?"

"Alright," I shrugged, "go ahead." I sat down next to Simon on one of the ratty couches, and turned slightly to face him. "Now. You. When are you going to stop insisting that you're straight when you're obviously not?"

"Never, because it's _untrue_!" he said adamantly.

"_Denial isn't just a river in Egypt_," I reminded him.

He became frustrated with me all too quickly. Gay boy had been acting excessively moody lately, now that I thought about it. "I know that, Carrie!"

"Then why do you keep insisting to me that you're straight? _When you lie to friends, you're only lying to yourself_." I was in a philosophical-advice-giving mood of sorts.

"How are your ideas even... I don't know... even... _supported_ in your mind? What about me makes you think I'm gay?" He seemed genuinely upset, so my snarky response of, '_What about you would make anyone think you're _straight_?'_ died in my throat. I decided to be honest.

"Well... You've never had a girlfriend, for one." I stopped to think of more reasons, or rather to organize them. "You never even seem like you're into most girls..." And the last reason of mine came immediately, without hesitation. "And you're really in touch with your feminine side, you know."

Before he could protest and/or assure me of his heterosexuality, Maddie came back, sat between the two of us, and flung an arm across Simon's shoulders, leaning on him heavily. She said to me, "You're up next, then me, then Eric, then a whole bunch of random nobodies that I couldn't care less about."

"Good to know," I told her. "I guess I'll go near the stage and wait. Wish me luck!" And without further ado, I stood up, strolled to the stage, and waited semi-patiently while some guy finished a poem he wrote in Italian sonnet form. _A-b-b-a-a-b-b-a_, _c-d-e-c-d-e_. Very neat rhyme scheme, if I do say so myself.

He went down the stairs, leaving the stage open. I got up there and took my place on the stool, adjusting the microphone to fit my height. The last guy had been over a half foot taller than me, even when sitting. I grinned at everyone, saying, "Salutations, everyone. I'm Carrie, and I'm going to be reading a funny little poem of mine, 'The Holy Black Hole of my Soul.' Oh, and it's supposed to be funny, so don't take it too seriously." I cleared my throat and began declaring my poem from memory. I'd written it during exam week of freshman year (also known as _a month or so ago_) when I'd been mulling over rhymes and meter with Maddie and Simon. And, somehow, I'd come up with the line of, 'the holy black hole of my soul' and it had just spawned from there. Throughout the poem, some people laughed at my witty lines and some idiots like that obnoxious Clary thing just looked confused, but I kept confidently plowing on until I finished up with my favorite part of all: "_That hole that you see is my soul. / That holy black hole is my soul./ That holy black hole of my soul,/ the holy black hole of my soul_." I pulled some long hair behind my ear, smiling at noticing that my dark purple nail polish was, as of now, unchipped. "Thank you," I said, standing up, as almost everyone snapped appreciatively.

I passed Maddie on the way down from the stage, smirking at her. "Nice poem," she said quietly.

"Of course it was," I murmured arrogantly. "Good luck with yours."

As I rejoined Simon on the couch in the back of the room, Maddie introduced herself and read her poem, "Phoenix," from a scrap of paper. She'd completely blown a teacher away in middle school with that poem, and it was one of her great achievements. I snapped as loudly as possible with my left hand (as I couldn't snap with my right) and she came back to the couch where Simon and I were seated.

"Great job, guys," Simon said to us.

Maddie looked at the counter of the coffee shop, where the cashiers were serving the not-so-busy lines of people both hot and cold drinks, but mainly the latter because of the heat outside. She said, "I'll be right back with drinks. What do you guys want?"

I threw a five-dollar-bill at her. "Hot chocolate, as always."

She wrinkled her nose and missed catching the money, and so picked it off the ground. "In the summer?"

"Naturally," I smiled, crossing my hoodie-clad arms.

"What about you, Gay-Ass?" she asked Simon impatiently. That was a new nickname. I'd never heard it before!

He feigned hurt. "Why the spiteful voice, O Twin? What hast I done to offend thee?" He brushed a fake tear off his face. Yep, definitely homosexual, not that there was anything wrong with that.

She rolled her eyes. "Hurry up and tell me before the line is long again."

Simon cut the dramatics. "You know what I want, anyway. I'll just have whatever you're getting."

"You know what? One of these days, I'm going to deliberately order something that _you don't like_," Maddie said in a warning tone, walking away. She muttered something that sounded like, "_Lazy-ass brothers."_

"So," said Simon, looking at me weirdly. "We're alone."

"No we're not," I said, gesturing at all the people around us. "We're surrounded by ingrates."

"You know what I mean," he sighed. Why was Simon acting so odd lately?

But my thoughts were cut off by Eric ascending the stage, accompanied by Simon's flinch. He swayed back and forth in front of the microphone, squinting his eyes tightly. He'd dyed the tips of his blonde hair pink for the occasion. Behind him, Matt, looking stoned like that redhead Clary, was beating irregularly on a djembe. I was _sooooo_ glad that I had beaten him up when he'd tried to force-kiss me instead of letting him. Eric was, first and foremost, a complete dork that seemed to thoroughly terrify Simon, to scare the living daylights out of my unfortunate best friend. And he was a complete creeper, too.

A loud burst of feedback was released when he knocked over the microphone stand, causing me to wince and cover my ears. He wrestled with it for a few feedback-filled seconds before righting it and yelling into the microphone, "Sorry about that, guys! All right. I'm Eric, and this is my homeboy Matt on the drums. My first poem is called 'Untitled'."

I locked eyes with Simon, still wincing, and Simon gave me an apologetic shrug, although his eyes had a panicked look and he was breathing irregularly.

Eric screwed his face up as if in pain, and wailed into the mic, "_Come, my faux juggernaut, my nefarious loins! Slather every protuberance with arid zeal!"_

Simon sank down in his seat. "Please don't tell anyone I know him."

"Not to worry," I assured him, making a face in Eric's direction. "And did he seriously pronounce 'faux' like 'fox' and just say 'loins'?"

"All his poems have loins in them," Simon said uneasily. I didn't doubt him.

"_Turgid is my torment!_" Eric wailed. "_Agony swells within!_"

"Yes, it does," I said unnecessarily. "And what's taking Maddie so long?" I peered at the counter, noticing Maddie waiting intolerantly in line, stuck behind some goths, a girl in a cheerleader's uniform, that Clary thing, and a couple geezers. One of the geezers was taking ages to pay for a simple to-go coffee, from the looks of it.

"Never mind her," Simon said quickly. I turned to him in surprise. "There's something I wanted to talk to you about."

"If it's about your band, I don't want to hear about it," I said immediately. "Talk to your band manager."

"Not that," Simon said. "It's about what we were talking about before. About me not having a girlfriend."

"That was a really incoherent sentence, you know," I told him. "And why should we talk about that? It's not like I can help."

"You're not aiding the situation at all, Fray."

"I couldn't care less, _Lewis_," I retorted. "And why don't you ask that Nathan Stewart character out?" I suggested, naming one of my back-up friends from my school, St. Xavier's. "He's nice, and he likes you, I think."

"I don't _want_ to ask Nathan Stewart out."

"Why not?" I wondered. "Still keeping up your heterosexual image? It's not like anyone cares, Simon."

"One, because I'm not gay, and two, it wouldn't be fair to him if I did..."

"Why?" I asked skeptically. "I think I know why, but I want to hear it from you." I realized that he probably had a crush on somebody different.

He looked, to put it lightly, green. "Because I like someone else."

"Alrighty then," I said agreeably. "I can deal with that." What could wind my dear friend Simon up to this pitch of anxiety? "I know I've asked you this a lot lately, but you're not gay, are you?"

He became a darker green before my eyes. "If I were, Maddie wouldn't have to pick out my clothes."

"So, who is it, then?" I asked, not entirely convinced. I was about to add that if he were in love with Eric that Maddie and I would both kick Simon's sorry hide, when I heard someone cough loudly behind me. Arrogantly. Self-importantly. A derisive sort of cough, like one who was trying not to laugh out loud. But this person, a guy by the sound of it, was trying to be noticed.

I turned around.

Sitting on a faded green couch a few feet away from me was Jace. He was wearing similar dark clothes to the ones he'd had on the night before in the club. His arms were bare and covered with faint white lines like old scars. His wrists bore wide metal cuffs, and I could see a knife handle protruding from the left one. He was looking right at me, smirking. I narrowed my eyes at him, because I was pretty darn sure that he hadn't been there a couple minutes before. What was the pretentious moron doing now?

"What is it?" Simon must have followed my gaze, but I could tell by his blank tone that he couldn't see Jace.

So blondie was going all Invisible-Man again. Despite my open hostility to him, he was still grinning at me. He even raised his left hand to wave, and a ring glittered on a slim finger. Dork. I felt like throwing something at him, since that was my habit when I got angry. I flew off the handle and began pelting people with any small object I could get my hands on (It especially annoyed Jocelyn, even though I couldn't help it. She claimed I got it from my father, but I could never figure out why she hinted that it was a bad thing). So I seized a pencil that was lying on the ground and hurled it at him.

It struck his chest with a thud, and I smirked at his expression. I had stunned Jace into a full on, undignified gape, and I was pretty darn proud of it.

I felt Simon's hand on my arm. He was saying my name, asking me if anything was wrong. It barely registered in my mind. I stood up and said calmly to him, a determined look on my face, "I'll be right back. I've just got to get some fresh air for a minute, okay?"

So I began walking, unhurriedly, toward the door, beckoning Jace to follow me by the way I walked, more of a pronounced, haughty, feline swagger than usual. He could tail me if he wanted to, and then I could accost him. Or he could stay and bug Simon, and I would be fine alone. It was all his decision.

I walked outside into the rapidly falling twilight, entering an alley and leaning against a wall. I _knew_ that Jace would follow me. It was a pride thing.

And there he was, hooking around the corner into the alley, his curly hair looking coppery gold. "Your pink-haired friend's poetry is terrible."

I didn't say anything to him regarding that, but instead asked, "Why did you follow me?" even though I knew the answer.

He shrugged. "You threw a pencil at me. No one throws a pencil at Jace Wayland and survives." His white teeth glimmered in the fading sunlight, I noted.

"I'm so scared," I said, yawning afterward. "And why are you following me? Is that what you do, stalk people for a living?"

He ignored the last part. "Who said I was following you?"

"I say that you're following me, as you were eavesdropping on my conversation with a friend and you just _happened_ to walk into the same alley as I did, moments after me."

"Good argument," he said appreciatively.

"Thanks," I said. "And should I call the police now or later? You can get seriously in trouble for stalking."

"And tell them what?" Jace said witheringly, severely annoying me. "That invisible people are bothering you? Trust me, little girl, the police aren't going to arrest someone they can't see."

I skulked over to him, and glared up at him, yet somehow making it condescending. "We've gone over this before, blondie. My name is _not_ little girl, and you definitely know what it is."

He just looked pleasantly down at me as if he dealt with this sort of thing daily. But behind that, I could see that he was taken aback and somewhat nervous. So he _wasn't_ used to this sort of thing. No one probably ever talked back to him, and/or got up in his face as fearlessly as I was now. "Perhaps," he said. "Carrie, right? You probably know my name, and yet you still insist on calling me 'blondie'."

"And you still insist on calling me 'little girl'. At least when I call you 'blondie', it's reasonable because your hair is blonde. But why do you feel the need to call me 'little girl'?" I narrowed my eyes at him, hoping that he wouldn't respond, '_Because you're so cute and huggable!',_ as Maddie always claimed and his friend Isabelle seemed to agree with.

"You seem to think you know a lot, _Carrie_, but you really don't, do you?" There was a lazy contempt in his gold eyes. "You seem to be a mundane like any other mundane, yet you can see me. It's a conundrum."

"It's also a conundrum how you insist on following me, _Jace_. What about me interests you so much, hmm?" I asked, smirking.

"I just said it, if you're so smart. You can see me even though you're a mundane."

I considered that. "That word you keep saying, 'mundane'. What does it mean? You say it like an insult." I noticed the touch of scholarly curiosity in my voice.

"Someone of the human world. Someone like you." He added as an afterthought, "And I do _not_ use it as an insult."

"Yes, you do, you should hear yourself," I snapped, before slightly calming down and saying, "But you're human, are you not?" I definitely did not want a Twilight situation in my real life. But what if he were a wizard? That would be awesome, to say the least…

"I am," he said. "But I'm not like you." There was no defensiveness in his tone, almost like he didn't care whether or not I believed him.

"Definitely," I said with false enthusiasm. "You're very _special_, blondie. Too _special_ for words. So _special_, in fact, that you've deluded yourself into thinking that it makes you better than me. Well, listen here, Jethro. You're not. You've admitted that you're human, and that means that you're no better than the rest of us." Ah, putting losers in their place was fun. "And that gives you no right to laugh at me."

"I was laughing at you because declarations of love amuse me, especially when unrequited," he said, which made me suspicious. What was he getting at? "And because your male friend is one of the most mundane mundanes I've ever encountered. And because Hodge thought you might be dangerous, and I'm starting to agree with him."

"I _do_ have more ammunition to throw at you," I said placidly, holding up my purse and jiggling it for emphasis, hearing the noises all the books made. "And thanks for the compliment. I love to think I'm dangerous. Even though, of course, you're the killer. You killed something last night, and now you look completely unaffected and devoid of injury." That last bit was laced with more curiosity.

"I may be a killer," Jace said, "but I know what I am. Can you say the same?"

"I'm dangerous," I grinned. "That I know for a fact, since know-it-all you told me so." Me, dangerous. Ha. Oh, it was to laugh. Especially taking into consideration my porcelain-doll appearance.

"Whatever," he said, leaning forward so that we were about eight to ten inches apart. "Let me see your right hand."

"Why?" I asked blankly, not waiting for a response. "You'll probably mutilate it. Because I'm so _dangerous_." Try as I might, I couldn't resist waving that little adjective in his face. Hey, he was the one who called me that, and it was so hilariously improbable that he had to pay the consequences!

"I'll do nothing of the sort."

"My right hand, you say?" I said, and he nodded. "And you'll stop stalking me if I do?"

"Certainly," he said, his voice edged with amusement.

"I don't believe you," I muttered, holding out my hand anyway. It was extremely pale in the half-light spilling from the windows, blue veins clearly visible, snaking their way from my wrist all the way up through my fingers. I felt bored, and wanted that hot chocolate that Maddie had undoubtedly gotten already. Oh, darn. How were Maddie and Simon handling my absence? Were they capable of surviving without my guiding hand of leadership? Probably.

Jace took my hand in his (the nerd) and turned it over. "Nothing." He sounded almost disappointed. "You're not left-handed, are you?"

"Nope. Why? You expecting something to be there?"

He released my hand with a shrug. "Most Shadowhunter children get Marked on their right hands- or left, if they're left-handed like I am- when they're still young. It's a permanent rune that lends an extra skill with weapons." He held his left hand out to me, the palm facing down. It looked completely normal.

"What am I looking for, again?" I didn't see anything.

"Let your mind relax," he suggested. "Wait for it to come to you. Like waiting for something to rise to the surface of the water."

"Cut the analogies, please." I took a deep breath and studied it again, seeing the small lines across his knuckles, the long joints of the fingers-

And there it was, miraculously. A black design across the back of his hand. I blinked, and it vanished.

"You have tattoos?" I asked with mild amusement. And better yet, they were _invisible tattoos_.

He smiled smugly and lowered his hand. "I thought you could do it. And it's not a tattoo- it's a Mark. They're runes, burned into our skin."

"Sounds painful to me," I muttered vaguely. "And it's supposed to make you handle weapons better?" That was hard to believe, but probably no more than believing that Simon was actually straight. I guessed anything was possible.

"Different Marks do different things. Some are permanent but the majority vanish when they've been used."

"Strange," I said softly, thinking about that. "And that's why you don't have any tattoos- Marks, whatever- on your arms today, even when I concentrate?"

"That's exactly why." He sounded way too pleased with himself. "I knew you had the Sight, at least." He glanced up at the sky. "It's nearly full dark. We should go."

I turned skeptical very quickly. "We? What do you mean by 'we'? I'm not going with you. I just _met_ you. And you said that you'd 'certainly' leave me alone," I said accusingly. What was this creeper doing?

"I lied," he said without a shred of embarrassment. "Hodge said I have to bring you to the Institute with me. He wants to talk to you."

"Who is Hodge supposed to be?"

"My tutor," he said easily.

"And why does he want to talk to me?" I thought about it myself. "Oh, right. He's the one who thinks I'm so _dangerous_." Well, it was my job to follow my own personal motto: '_Let nothing rest.'_

"You know the truth now," Jace pointed out. "There hasn't been a mundane who knew about us for at least a hundred years."

I just looked at him through my big, gray eyes. "Then why were you so quick to tell me?"

That took him aback. "What?" For just a second, his composure slipped and I saw vulnerability in that blonde, lion-like teenager who apparently killed demons.

"You were the one who told me everything, so isn't it technically your fault that I know about you people? And what did you mean by 'us'? People like you, who believe in demons or something?"

"People who kill them," he corrected. "We're called Shadowhunters." Pssh, silly name. "At least, that's what we call ourselves. The Downworlders have less complimentary names for us."

I was growing impatient with all these foreign terms that he kept using. "What is a Downworlder?"

"The Night Children. Warlocks. The fey. The magical folk of this dimension."

I gathered my bearings, realizing I wasn't acting like myself, and resumed projecting 'Arrogant Carrie' as I said, "Oh, and I assume there are also vampires and werewolves? What about zombies? Do you... Shadow-whatever's believe in _those_, too?"

"Of course," Jace said matter-of-factly. "Although you mostly find zombies farther south, where the _voudun _priests are." Voodoo priests? Neat!

"You keep telling yourself that," I muttered in a patronizing tone, rolling my eyes. "I wouldn't be surprised if it turned out that you're a runaway mental patient." But if that were true, what did it make me? I'd seen something, definitely, the night before. Did it mean I was just as crazy as this Jace person?

"Look, Hodge will explain all this to you when you see him."

I crossed my arms over my flat-ish chest. "Oho? The way you're saying it is that I'm definitely going with you. Which I'm not."

His mouth quirked up into a grin. "That's what you think. You can come either willingly or unwillingly."

"Oh, really?" I said, an icy smirk on my face. "Is it just me, or are you threatening to kidnap me?"

"If you want to look at it that way," Jace said, "yes."

I was about to protest indignantly when my cell phone started blaring a loud chorus of 'Dragostea Din Tei' by O-zone, the song I had been listening to earlier, which signaled that Maddie and/or Simon were calling. I studied Jace. "Are you going to prevent me from answering my phone?"

"Not at all," he said generously. "Go ahead and answer that if you like."

I dug frantically in my large, black hole of a purse, eventually unearthing my cell phone. I flipped it open and said, "Greetings." Jace raised an eyebrow, so I turned away from him.

"_Carrie! Where the fuck are you, bitch_?" Maddie asked me frantically. "_Simon's completely freaking the hell out, and I'm left with hot chocolate that I don't want to drink and-_"

"_I am not freaking out_," Simon said petulantly, but I heard the worry in his voice.

"Um..." I said, thinking up an alibi. "Don't worry about me. I'm fine, despite the fact that some blonde freak that I met on the street is threatening to kidnap me." I heard Jace's noise of surprise from behind me, but I ignored him as well as I could. "You know, the usual."

"_Carrie, stop lying. This is not a time for lying to us!"_ exclaimed Simon, overreacting as always. "_Now where the hell are you?"_

"Nowhere important," I said shortly. "I'll talk to you guys later. I've got to go. Don't worry about me." And before I hung up on them, I heard Maddie's yell of, "_Bitch!_" I sighed and closed my phone, turning back around to face Jace, who was staring at me with a look of barely concealed interest on his face. "What?" I demanded. I hated it when guys stared at me. It was completely obnoxious.

He seemed to get a hold of himself and shook his head. "Nothing."

"If you say so," I said. My phone started ringing again in my hand, but this time 'I Am the Walrus'. "Hmm, it's not them again, unless they stole someone's cell phone." I checked the screen, a little surprised. "Huh. It's my mother." Therefore, I chucked it back in my bag.

"You don't care that your mom is calling you?" Jace asked me nosily.

"Nope," I said honestly. "My mother is crazy. And she couldn't care less about me, so I couldn't care less about her. Simple." The phone went to voice mail, but started ringing again only a few seconds later. I groaned again.

"Impatient?" Jace offered, and I knew he was talking about Jocelyn.

"Indubitably." I fished out my phone again and stared at it as it rang. I sighed, "I guess I'll answer it. Hold on." So I opened it and raised it to my ear. "Jocelyn?"

_"Oh, Carrie. Oh, thank God, you picked up._" I felt slightly alarmed at her panicked tone. "_Listen to me-_"

"Why, Jocelyn? I'm on my way home," I lied.

"_No!_" Terror scraped the woman's voice raw. What was going on where she was? "_Don't come home! Do you understand me, Carrie? Don't you dare come home. Go to Maddie and Simon's. Go straight there and stay there until I can_-" A noise in the background cut her off: the sound of something falling, shattering, something heavy striking the floor.

Despite my overall apathy towards her in general, I grew worried. "Um, are you okay, Jocelyn?"

Static came from her side, but I could still hear my mother's voice. "_Just promise me you won't come home. Go to your friends' house and call Luke- tell him that he's found me-_" Her words were drowned out by a heavy crash like splintering wood. My mother began hyperventilating.

"Who's found you? Give me the specifics! I need the specifics, okay?" I fought myself to remain calm for my mother's sake. One of the two of us had to be sane at all times, and it was always me. "What's going on?"

But there was an awful noise, a noise I knew I'd never forget- a harsh, slithering sound followed by a thump. Jocelyn drew in a deep breath before saying way too calmly, "_Carrie, I know you won't believe me because I don't usually act like it, but I love you, and I always will."_ And then the phone went dead.

"Jocelyn?" I yelled into the phone. "Are you there? Jocelyn?" _Call ended_, the screen said. But why did the woman hang up so suddenly?

"Carrie," Jace said. "What's going on?"

"I don't know," I snapped, dialing my home phone. There was no answer except for a double-tone busy signal. "Just leave me alone so I can fix this, Jace!"

"Calm down," he said, seizing my wrist and forcing me to meet his gold eyes. "Has something happened?"

"Yes," I said, trying futilely to wrench my wrist from his grasp. "It seems like my mother is in mortal danger, so I've got to disobey her direct orders and go home. But first..." I got a half-formed idea. "Give me your phone." I didn't wait for him, plucking a black, oblong shape out of his shirt pocket with my left hand.

"It's not a phone," he said, trying to wrestle it out of my grip with his non-dominant hand while still holding onto my right arm. "It's a Sensor. You won't be able to use it."

"But I need to call my house from a different phone and see if it works," I insisted wildly, still wriggling around to avoid him. "And get off of me! Stop touching me, you creeper! Pervert! RAPE!" Maddie and Simon had taught me very well.

Not well enough, though, as he didn't let go of me, unfortunately. "Tell me what happened first. I can _help_ you."

"I don't need your help!" I yelled in his face. "I'm perfectly capable of handling myself, thank you very much! I don't need some random bodyguard that I just met who _won't let go of me!"_

Without leaving time for his response, rage pulsing through my veins, I kicked out at his shins, sending Jace toppling over onto the ground. He finally let go of me, so I threw his Sensor_-_or-whatever into my purse and took off, running toward the lights of Seventh Avenue.

When I reached the street, I kind of expected Jace to be following me but I didn't care and I didn't look back as I ran for home. It was time to potentially save my ungrateful mother's life.

How utterly noble of me.


	4. Chapter 4

**THE NEW AND MUCH IMPROVED EFFORT OF THIS CONCEPT (changing _City of Bones_ by Cassandra Clare for the better) IS FINALLY UP. FIND IT ON MY PROFILE AS SIMPLY _City of Bones_. I'VE WORKED LONG AND HARD ON IT AND I HOPE YOU'LL ALL ENJOY IT.**

****Love,  
>I Suffer From Hubris<strong>**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Four: Ravener<strong>

The already burning temperature of the night had gotten even hotter, and I felt distinctly overheated. That was for good reason, I guess, since I was in a zip-up sweatshirt and tight jeans, but I was usually fine dressed like that, even in the summer. As I sprinted, I took in a deep breath of sticky air. Ah, so that's what made me feel like I was boiling: the humidity. I loathed humidity, and highly preferred breathing air over drinking it.

I was trapped by a DON'T WALK sign at the corner of my block, and I agitatedly watched cars whiz by in blurs of headlights for a few seconds. But I got bored all too quickly, so I took out Jace's Sensor thing and examined it under a streetlight. He hadn't been lying. It actually _wasn't_ a phone, or at least wasn't a type I'd seen before. It had too many buttons with bizarre symbols on them instead of numbers, and no screen. Then the DON'T WALK changed to WALK, so I unceremoniously threw it back in my bag and ran like a maniac across the street.

I was getting tired, and rapidly. I was actually fast when running, as long as it was short distance. Otherwise, I was inept. Like now.

Taking in heavy, labored breaths and trying to slow down my heart rate, I walked briskly up towards my house. The second-floor windows were lit, which meant under normal circumstances that Jocelyn was home. Unfortunately, I think this counted as an_ abnormal _circumstance. I doubted she was home, but I couldn't fight off a spark of hope.

Then I stepped into the entryway. The _dark_ entryway. The _pitch-black_ entryway where the overhead light had burned out. The entire foyer was in complete darkness, giving it a very clichéd, ominous feel. If this were a horror movie, the monster/rapist/Voldemort would wait until I ascended the stairs, and then jump out and kill me. And I would be the first victim, of course.

But, thankfully, my life was _not_ a horror movie, at least I hope not...

I still felt disoriented, and so I unearthed my handy-dandy mini flashlight from my purse and clicked it on, making sure there was nothing on the stairs as I went up.

And a vaguely familiar voice said from behind me, "And just where do you think you're going?"

I whirled around in an instant, brandishing my flashlight like a professional and shining it in the thing's face as it cringed. "Madame Dorothea?" I asked incredulously. "Why are you sitting alone in the dark? It's awfully depressing."

For I had noticed the shape of a large, overstuffed, ratty armchair, drawn up in front of her apartment door. She was wedged into it and I could clearly see her round, powdered face, the white lace fan in her hand, the dark, yawning gap of her mouth when she spoke, ignoring my question. Madame Dorothea in all her overcompensated glory. Madame _Overkill_, more like. "Your mother has been making a god-awful racket up there. What's she doing? Moving furniture?"

"I don't know what that woman does in her spare time," I said cavalierly, not removing the bright, LED beam from her face. "And I don't think she's been moving furniture." I glanced at her armchair outside her door, where it most definitely had not been earlier today. "If anyone in this house has been moving furniture, I think it's you. And why did you drag your chair out? What twisted type of individual likes sitting in the dark?" I knew I was being openly rude, but the freaky Madame Overkill deserved it.

Once again, she disregarded my inquiries. "And the stairwell light's burned out, did you notice?"

"No, not at all," I said in mock surprise. "I was just getting out my mini flashlight because of all the excess light!" I looked up to the ceiling. "Oh, my! You're right! It _is_ out!"

She rapped her ugly fan against the arm of her chair. "Can't your mother get her boyfriend to change it?"

"You're mistaken, old lady," I said. "The Wolverine isn't Jocelyn's boyfriend. She's much too obnoxious to have a boyfriend." Heck, I didn't even know how and/or why my father decided to marry the woman. Seriously, who would want to marry _that_ sack of nonsense known as my mother?

"The skylight needs washing, too. It's filthy. No wonder it's nearly pitch-black in here."

"No, you're wrong. Again. It's pitch-black in here because the _stairwell light_ burned out, as you felt the need to point out before. And you still haven't answered me about why you enjoy sitting in the dark at night by yourself." Gosh, Madame Overkill was almost as annoying as Jocelyn, and that was saying something. I glanced up the stairs in the direction of my apartment. "And I've got to go now. I would say that it was nice talking to you, but then I'd be lying," I said, turning away from her and walking up the stairs without looking back.

And I trailed my _torch_ (as the Brits called it) on our door, and noticed that something was wacky with _it_, too. It was hanging off its hinges, spilling a wedge-shaped shaft of light onto the landing. _Uggggh_. What did Jocelyn do _now_?

I pushed the door open, it coming off in my hand. What was I supposed to do with our front door? I tossed it down the stairs, finding nothing better to do, remembering a split second too late that Madame Overkill was _sitting_ at the bottom of the stairs. Oh well, she deserved to have a door thrown at her for startling me like that and ignoring me when I asked innocent questions.  
>Inside, every single electrical light was on, for once, blinding me for a few moments with the unexpected radiance. I groaned at the sudden burst of brightness, putting my flashlight back in my purse and dramatically covering my eyes with one hand. Curse my sensitive eyes. Slowly, after a few seconds, I removed my hand and blinked until I wasn't blind anymore.<p>

Jocelyn's keys and goofy pink handbag with her pink marabou boa wrapped around it, tiara perched precariously on top (she'd gone to Mama Gena's School of Womanly Arts and couldn't get enough of all the girly stuff and now never left the house without her tiara) were on the small, red spray-painted wrought iron shelf by the door, where she always left them. "Jocelyn, your unappreciated daughter has returned!" I called. "You can resume your nagging at me if you wish, but that doesn't mean I'm going to _listen,_ you harpy!"

There was no tearful, angst-ridden reply about how ungrateful I was, which definitely meant that Jocelyn either wasn't home or wasn't conscious. Had she drunk herself wild like she used to and passed out on the floor in our house somewhere? But that didn't explain the strange phone call.

Off to find my mother!

I went into the living room. Both windows were open, the pink and silver feathery curtains blowing in the wind like marabou ghosts. I sighed and shut the windows, shaking my head to myself about how scatterbrained Jocelyn was. I had a _cat_ who liked _sitting_ in windows. He could have easily fallen out...

Where the Hades was Philip?!

Only when I got a hold of myself (being hysterical wouldn't find my cat any faster) did I notice that the cushions had been ripped from the red couch and scattered all around the room in odd places, for example on top of the overturned pink television. Some were torn lengthwise, cheap imitation cotton innards spilling onto the floor. The bookshelf was tipped over, its contents lying across the floor like wounded soldiers, Jocelyn's icky music books from when she attempted to force me into piano lessons among the casualties. And don't even get me started on the _paintings_. Every single one torn from its broken frame, shards of glass on the wooden floor beneath. Canvases ripped neatly into strips, as if by a knife. The marabou had been ripped off everything, littering the room in pink feathers as if someone had just murdered an entire flock of unnaturally sparkly flamingos. What had happened when I was gone?

"Jocelyn!" I called. "Come out, come out, wherever you are!" Struck with inspiration, I chanted,

"_Fe fi fo fum, I smell the blood of... an obnoxious mum!_" Oh, the joy of British terms! "_Be she live or be she dead, I'll grind her bones to feed to Philip."_ Okay, so the last part didn't rhyme. Ah, well, what could I do?

Wait for her outraged response and laugh cruelly, that was what!

No answer.

"Jocelyn! Jocelyn, are you feeling okay?" I asked hesitantly, but loudly so that she could maybe hear me. "Jocelyn! Mother?"

I hadn't seriously called Jocelyn by anything other than her first name since I was eleven. That perfectly showcased a little piece I'd like to call '_Carrie's Desperation'_.

I stepped into the kitchen. It was empty, the cream cabinet doors open, a smashed bottle of Tabasco sauce (yuck) spilling peppery liquid onto the red linoleum. Anxiety started gnawing at me, I'll admit.

What went on while I wasn't home?

It looked almost like the scene of a robbery after the fact, except the fact that nothing seemed to be stolen. So I ruled out larceny altogether. I knew I should probably be calling the police, but the truth was that I just didn't like and/or trust the fuzz. And besides, this was personal. My mother was gone.

My mother. Was gone.

Mother. Gone.

Gone.

I fell to my knees, hit by a sudden wave of vertigo. And I realized something about myself, something that I'd always sort of known but subconsciously repressed. I cared about Jocelyn, very much so. Sure, she was a scatterbrained idiot who wasted all our money on Botox and overalls and paint and tiaras and boas, but she was still my mother. I just wanted her to notice how much pain she put me through, what with her drinking and 'cosmetic procedures' and everything. To act like a mother would.

Jocelyn was missing! I needed to find her and give her a stern talking to and tell her what a moron she was and explain to her my revelation.

I actually wasn't apathetic towards the woman, after all. And it took a crisis like this to realize it.

Was I really that pathetic?

I still needed to find her, and search for Philip on the way. My poor kitty cat! He was probably miserable!

Without realizing it, I'd gone into Jocelyn's bedroom. As always, it looked like Cupid had just vomited all over it. Everything seemed to be in order, and therefore marabou-ed. The completely mirrored walls were un-shattered, thankfully (that would have been dangerous). Handmade lace-over-pink-satin quilt folded carefully over the duvet, marabou and all. Light red box initialed 'J.C.' near her bed, which had its own heart-shaped headboard (lined with marabou). My own face smirked at me from on top of a cream doily on the bedside table inside a hot pink frame (also lined with marabou), devilish at five years old, gap-toothed leer framed by milk chocolate-colored hair and punctuated by huge, gray eyes. I was momentarily distracted by what a great picture it was of me! It had captured my personality perfectly, and from when I was five years old at that! If only I could photograph that well nowadays.

And then I remembered my mission. It didn't look like Jocelyn was in here, but was Philip? I needed my Philip Augustus II of France in cat form, and now!

"Philip," I cooed, clicking my tongue. "Where are you, you naughty little kitten? Are you hiding again?" Maybe Philip wasn't a kitten anymore, but see what I cared. He would always be my kitten. So there.

Silence answered me. No, not silence- a noise sounded through the apartment, raising the short, blonde hairs along the nape of my neck. It was the sound from the freakish phone call, the sound of something being knocked over- a heavy object striking the floor with a dull thud- followed by a dragging, slithering noise... And it was coming right for Jocelyn's bedroom.

I gritted my teeth and tried to stay strong, taking a deep breath, gripping the shoulder straps of my purse for moral support, and slowly turned around.

And the doorway was empty!

Thank _God_! So I wasn't going to die an untimely death after all! I was overreacting for nothing. Pssh. Silly me! I'd probably imagined the whole creepy sound, conjured it from my memories of the phone call. Yes, there was definitely... nothing... in the doorway...

Because I looked down at the floor in what started as relief and escalated into sheer, unadulterated terror in a matter of milliseconds.

It was crouched against the floor, a long, scaled creature with a cluster of at least forty or so glassy black eyes set dead center in the front of its domed skull. I saw myself reflected in dozens of them, looking smaller and paler and more pathetic than I could have ever imagined possible.

Something like a cross between an alligator, a scorpion, and a centipede, it had gigantic pincers and a barbed tail that whipped menacingly from side to side. Multiple legs, half of them like spindly spiders' legs and half like the short, clawed alligator's, bunched underneath as it readied itself to spring.

Onto me. I gasped and dodged at the last second, it missing me by inches. It slid across the wood floor, its claws gouging deep grooves. A low growl bubbled from its throat and it snapped its pincers at me.

Hefting my heavy purse onto my back, I tried to make a run for it toward the hallway, but the thing was too fast. It pounced again and I threw myself onto the ground to avoid it. It landed just above the door, where it hung like a gigantic malignant spider, staring down at me with its cluster of eyes. I watched myself take a deep breath and square my shoulders, looking defiantly at the beast. Its jaws opened slowly, showing a row of fanged teeth spilling greenish drool. _Gross_. A long black tongue flickered out between its jaws as it gurgled and hissed. Again I say, _gross_. To my shock, I realized that the noises it was making were words.

"_Girl_," it hissed. "_Flesh. Blood. To eat, oh, to eat."_

What the Hades was with the imitation of the basilisk from HP and the Chamber of Secrets?

What? Huh?

My connecting of real life to Harry Potter distracted me from my panic for a moment until it began to slowly slither down the wall. It was on its feet now, crawling towards me, but lazily, like it was in no rush. Like I was an easy meal. Ha.

I reached into my trusty bag of accessories and closed my fingers around one of my books, preparing to yank it out and launch it at the thing. It came closer so I backed up, chucking my copy of _Ouran High School Host Club: Volume 12_ (my least favorite volume, actually, since chapter 53 was just plain _weird_) at it with deadly accuracy that was all my own.

The book hit its midsection and bounced off, striking the floor with an empty thud. The thing didn't seem to notice, as it came on toward me, my book being murdered under its feet. I didn't have time to mourn the loss, though, since it spoke again. "_Bones, to crunch, to suck out the marrow, to drink the veins..."_

TMI, thing. TMI.

My back hit the wall, since I had backed up too far. UGH! Darn it! I was a fizzing sitting _duck_ now... PHILIP! Where was Philip when I needed him most? I wondered vaguely what songs they would play at my funeral...

Then a vibrating sensation started in my purse, which I had been holding in front of me like a shield. I plunged my hand inside, immediately locating the source and drawing it out. It was the plastic thing I'd nicked off Jace. The Sensor was shuddering like a cell phone set on vibrate, and was almost painfully hot in my hand. I got a good grip on it, though, just as the thing sprang a third time.

I ducked out of the way, but it must have expected that since it followed me. It hurtled into me, knocking me to the ground, slamming my head and shoulders against the floor. I beat at it with my fists and swung my bag like some weird sort of axe, but the creature was too heavy. It was on top of me, an oppressive, slimy weight that made me nauseous. "_To eat, to eat_," it moaned. "_But it is not allowed, to swallow, to savor_." I was getting really fed up of its basilisk impression.

"That's too bad," I said in a strangled voice, trying not to breathe in the hot, stinky air that wafted from the thing. "You should be able to eat what you want, you know?" I couldn't _breathe_. My ribs felt like they would fizzing _shatter_. I couldn't _breathe_. One of my arms was pinned between my body and the monster's, digging uncomfortably into my own torso. I couldn't _breathe_. Its confusion at my comment, as I anticipated, bought me a few seconds to wrangle my right arm (with the Sensor in it, mind you) free, and the thing didn't seem to notice.

"_Valentine will never know_," it said. Ah, so that Valentine-character that I'd heard about in Pandemonium was behind this. That guy must have been _bad news_. "_He said nothing about a girl. Valentine will not be angry." _What was it going to do, eat me?! To crunch my bones or whatever and savor my blood? No thank you!

Fueled with new enthusiasm at not wanting to become something's meal, I let out one high note of a combination of terror and triumph, somehow rolling over and forcing the thing off me. Not wanting to take any chances, I stuffed the Sensor through its pincers and between its open jaws while feeling hot, acidic drool coat my wrist and spill in burning drops onto my throat. I skittered away, trying to wipe the acid off using my sweatshirt sleeve. Surely enough, it _burned right through the cloth_. And stung my neck, really badly.

It was then that the thing seemed to notice that Jace's Sensor was in its teeth. It jerked back and forth until it came free before swallowing with a growl. I could only watch, transfixed, amazed at how my death could come so quickly after that valiant, Herculean effort that I put in...

Suddenly, it began to twitch. Uncontrollably so. As if in a seizure or something. It rolled onto its back, multiple legs and pincers churning the air. I still watched, my eyes even wider than usual, and my lips parted. Black fluid poured from its mouth, pooling around the floor... Was it dead?

Collecting my bearings and tearing my eyes away from the beast I just murdered (in self-defense, so it was reasonable), I started to scramble to my feet to get away. I nearly reached the door when I heard something whistle through the air next to my head. I ducked a bit, but it was a moment too late. Something slammed heavily into the back of my neck, and then there was darkness...

Light stabbed at me through my eyelids. Blues, whites, and reds. Patriotic colors? What? There was also a high wailing noise, rising in pitch like the scream of a terrified child... And just as obnoxious... My head ached. I groaned and opened my eyes.

I was lying on cold, damp grass and probably getting soaked and muddy. Not that I cared, after _that_ harrowing experience. The night sky rippled overhead, the gleam of stars washed out by city lights. Jace was kneeling beside me and looking like he was concentrating very hard on something, the silver cuffs on his wrists throwing off sparks of light as he tore a piece of cloth he was holding into strips. "Don't move."

No, '_Oh, good, you're awake, Carrie. I'm sorry for acting like an _imbecile_ earlier today, and then not being there when you almost died. Can you forgive me?'_

I wrinkled my nose and disobediently turned my head to the side, being handsomely rewarded by an excruciating stab of pain that shot down my spine. I got a good look at my surroundings, though, so maybe it was worth it. I was lying on a patch of grass behind Jocelyn's heavily manicured rosebushes. The foliage partially blocked my view of the street, but I still saw the approaching police car, its blue-and-white light bar flashing. Couldn't they cut the darn siren? Some of us just narrowly survived and had pounding headaches.

Already, a small group of neighbors had gathered, staring as the car door opened and two blue-uniformed officers emerged. Among them, I caught sight of that Clary-ginger-thing, strangely enough. I didn't know she lived in the neighborhood… That was a scary thought.

Eww, who had alerted everyone, especially the ginger? I no longer wanted to look at the street, so I decided to suck it up and turn my head back to facing up at the night sky. I was able to deal with the resulting pain, and just dug my fingers into the grass.

"I told you not to move," Jace hissed, and I raised an eyebrow, which magnificently didn't hurt.

He bent over into my line of sight, hovering about a foot over my face. "That Ravener demon got you in the back of the neck. It was half-dead so it wasn't much of a sting, but we have to get you to the Institute. Hold still."

A breeze came along and blew a lot of my hair into my face, but I didn't really care. And I couldn't move it, or another gust of pain would come along. "Wait," I said, my voice much quieter than usual. "You seem to know what happened. Were you there? Why didn't you help me?"

"I wasn't there," he said patiently, gently slipping a strip of knotted cloth under my neck and starting to tie it. It was smeared with something waxy, like the gardener's salve Jocelyn used to keep her paint/turpentine-abused hands soft-ish. "I basically worked out what happened by the leftover damage and your injury."

I blinked, which turned into a blush of sorts when his hand brushed my cheek to move my long hair behind me, probably to tie the bandage more easily. Curse my pale skin! Maybe I could pass it off as a sickly flush.

No, probably not. He saw my expression, grinned, and said, "Sorry," not sounding sorry at all.

"Pssh," I said, which was the best I could do at the moment. "I don't care."

He was about to say something, but what sounded like the chorus of the Beatles song "Get Back" from a cell phone started ringing from one of his many pockets. Beatles fan? Jace had just gained many more cool points in my book. He fished it out and opened it, before abruptly closing it. He went back to adjusting my neck bandage. Surely enough, Paul McCartney began singing again. He hung up wordlessly once more. "Get Back" came impatiently a last time, so he finally held it up to his ear. "What do you want, Raven?" Jace asked irritably. "I'm kind of busy here."

"Who?" I wondered curiously.

He said aside to me, "My older sister for all intents and purposes. She lives with us at the Institute." He yelled into the phone, "Stop nagging me about what I want for dinner! I'm trying to save someone's life, here!" My brow furrowed. What an odd conversation. "Yes, her. The one I told you about that I met at Pandemonium last night. You know, the mundane who can see us."

Ah, so he had talked about me. Blech. "You _what? _You want to _talk_ to her? Don't you understand that she's _dying?_" Someone I'd never met wanted to talk to me on the phone? How ridiculous. Still, he held his phone up against my ear and advised, "Talk as quickly as possible."

"Hello?" I asked suspiciously.

"_Hi, are you Carrie?"_ the other voice inquired. It was the voice of a girl, probably in her late teens. Somewhere between seventeen and nineteen, I'd say.

"Yes," I said. "And Jace is giving me a really dirty look so we should probably keep this short."

"_Well, hello anyway! I'm Raven, and I didn't get to meet you last night."_

"Ah," I said. "Nice to meet you, I guess."

"_I just wanted to say hi and introduce myself, so I'll see you at the Institute, okay?"_

"Sure. That is... if I'm alive. I suppose I'll meet you then, if I'm not dead. Bye." It came out sounding very tired and kind of intrigued.

"_Bye! Can you put Jace back on, please?_"

"Jace," I said to him. "She wants to speak at you."

He took back his phone, and put it up to his own ear. "Raven, I've really got to go. She's getting even paler than she was already." Mocking my skin tone? Have at thee, Jace, and thou shalt sample my blade, even if you _are_ a Beatles fan! "Fine. I want spaghetti, okay? Now leave me alone." He groaned as he replaced it in his pocket, "Ugh, sisters. Who needs them?"

I asked dully, "What next?"

He kept fiddling with my bandage (although it seemed, at least to me, like he didn't need to) as he told me, "Next we go to the Institute, where I'm pretty sure Hodge will be able to save your life."

"Hopefully," I muttered. I felt my consciousness slipping, but stayed in control. I wasn't going to pass out a second time in the same day. A thought struck me. "Is that Rav-whatever demon dead, now?"

"Yes," he said, finishing the knot and sitting back. "You killed it."

To my great relief, the pain in the back of my neck faded (I guess I really got the meaning of 'pain in the neck' that night). I hauled myself into a sitting position, realizing my head had been propped up against my purse this entire time. I glanced at the street. "Police are here," I said groggily. The pain had stopped, but now I felt exhausted.

"There's nothing they can do. Somebody probably heard your one scream- hell, I was a block away and _I_ heard it- and reported it." I was a bit impressed with myself that it had traveled that far, actually. I had major vocal talent. "And ten to one those aren't actual police officers. Demons have a way of hiding their tracks."

"My mother and my cat..." I choked through my swollen throat.

"That's Ravener poison coursing through your veins _right now_. You'll be dead in an hour if you don't come with me." He got to his feet and held out his hand to me.

"I can stand by myself," I insisted, trying and having an epic fail.

He seized my hand and pulled me upright, saying, "Come on."

"Stop touching me, you pretentious moron," I murmured, closing my eyes to stop the head rush that came from standing so suddenly.

I opened my eyes, and the world tilted. Jace disobeyed my request and put his hand across my back, holding me steady against himself. He smelled of whiskey, aftershave, and leather. Disgusting boy. "Can you walk?"

"I'm fine," I snapped, batting at him so that he would let me go. But, he didn't. Pretentious. Moron.

I did a quick sweep of the densely blooming bushes. I could see the fuzz coming up the path. One of them, a slim blonde woman, held a flashlight in one hand. As she raised it, I saw that the hand was fleshless. A skeleton hand, sharpened to bone points at the fingertips. I couldn't fight my quick intake of breath.

"I told you they might be demons." Jace glanced at the back of my house. "We have to get out of here. Can we go through the alley?"

I became more tired by the moment, and shook my head. "Bricked up. No way-" My words dissolved into a violent fit of coughing. I raised a hand to cover my mouth, and it came away covered in blood. I whimpered once, closing my eyes for few seconds.

Jace grabbed my wrist (newfound habit of his, I guess) and yanked up my sweatshirt sleeve, turning my wrist over so the white, vulnerable flesh of my inner arm was bare under the moonlight. I saw my blue veins carrying poisoned blood to my brain, my heart. My knees buckled, but I was safely anchored against the blonde flirt.

There was something in his hand. Sharp and silver. I tried to pull away when it came close, but his grip was too strong. Stinging sensation just below the fold of my wrist.

An inked black symbol. Overlapping circles. "What does this one do?" I asked, my words slurring slightly.

"It'll hide you," he said. "Temporarily." He slid the silver, sharp thing back into his belt. "My stele," he explained unhelpfully.

I didn't ask about it. I was too busy trying not to fall over, even with Jace's support. "Let me walk by myself," I told him.

"Fine," he said, sounding amused.

He released me and I swayed on the spot, but eventually was still. I took a step, and I collapsed. "A little help here?" I said sleepily.

Jace caught me easily. Like he was used to catching fainting girls. Like he did it every day. Maybe he did. Without asking my permission, he swung me up into his arms.

"Put me down," I moaned, talking over him. I didn't bother to listen to what he was saying.

He didn't listen to me, either.

I tipped my head back involuntarily, looking up at the pretty, black sky.

Then I felt my consciousness slipping again. I didn't try to hang onto it this time.

And there was darkness.


	5. Chapter 5

**THE NEW AND MUCH IMPROVED EFFORT OF THIS CONCEPT (changing _City of Bones_ by Cassandra Clare for the better) IS FINALLY UP. FIND IT ON MY PROFILE AS SIMPLY _City of Bones_. I'VE WORKED LONG AND HARD ON IT AND I HOPE YOU'LL ALL ENJOY IT.**

****Love,  
>I Suffer From Hubris<strong>**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Five: Clave and Covenant<strong>

"Do you think she'll ever wake up, Rae? It's been three days already."

"You have to give her time. Demon poison is strong stuff, and I'm pretty sure she's a mundane. She hasn't got runes to keep her strong like we do. What do you think, Alec?"

"I'm not sure."

"Mundies die awfully easily, don't they, Raven?"

"Isabelle, you know it's bad luck to talk about death in a sickroom."

_Three whole days?_ I thought slowly, as I had just drifted back into consciousness. All my thoughts ran as thickly and were as sticky as molasses or honey, and weren't nearly as sweet, knowing me. I had to wake up, but I just couldn't find the motivation to open my eyes. So I decided to put into use my amazing acting skills and fake sleep.

Fake sleep turned into real sleep soon enough, and dreams haunted me, a river of images that bore me along like a leaf tossed in a raging ravine.

My adorable Philip, being chased by Ravener demons and meowing for my help as they ate him. Jocelyn, lying on a hospital bed amidst an ever-changing rainbow of colors in the air, eyes like bruises in her Botox'ed face. Luke, standing on top of a mile-high tower of bones, his Wolverine sideburns dripping blood as his clawed hands ripped the skin off some unfortunate soul's body. Jace with white, feathered wings sprouting out of his back, soaring in the night sky and landing on the crescent moon, glittery dust following in his wake. Isabelle just _sitting_ in the middle of a busy sidewalk of New York, people narrowly avoiding her as they walked past in blurs of dim colors, Isabelle's whip curled around her black-clad body like some sort of freakish dress. Simon in pain, dancing around to avoid crosses being burned into his flesh. Maddie biting the neck of that Clary thing and sucking her blood, a wild and feral look in her eyes. Alec, slow-dancing with a tall man who seemed to sparkle. Angels, falling and burning. Falling out of the sky.

What had I been smoking before passing out, again?

"I told you it was the same girl, Raven. You should trust me more, hot stuff."

"I know. Little thing, isn't she? Jace said she killed a Ravener all by herself. And she seemed nice enough when I talked to her on the phone."

"Yeah. I thought she was a pixie the first time I saw her. She's too... innocent and cute-looking to be a pixie, though."

A snort. "Isabelle, are you going crazy or something? She's smirking, even in her sleep. Reminds me of Jace."

"True. She still is kind of beaten-up, you know? I wonder how she looks when she's _not..._"

"Cut the fantasizing, Belly. You're being a creeper. I doubt she swings that way, unlike _you_." A pause. "Is Hodge going to call on the Silent Brothers?"

"Yikes. I hope not. They're the _real_ creepers, Rae, not me. They're _so totes not hot_ what with their scars. Anyone who mutilates themselves like that-"

"We mutilate ourselves."

"I know, I know, but when we do it, it isn't permanent. We're still hot, and it doesn't always hurt..."

"If you're old enough." Another pause, and footsteps into the room. "Oh, hey, Alec."

"Hi, guys. Have you seen Jace anywhere?"

"He saved her, didn't he? I would have thought he'd take some interest in her recovery. And no, Alec, we haven't."

"Jace did, Raven, at least according to Hodge."

"But we all know how wrong Hodge _is_. I swear, one in every three facts he tells us is wrong."

"But Hodge _insisted_ that he keeps sneaking in here and watching her while she sleeps. It's really weird."

"Huh. That almost reminds me of Twilight."

"Yeah, Raven, you're right! Alec, stop making that face."

"I'm not making a face."

"Yes you are."

"Fine, but only because you _girls_ keep talking about things I've never heard about before."

"Oh, Alec, you can read _Twilight_ if you want."

"I don't want to, Raven."

"Please, Alec?"

"Belly, I said no."

"Whatever. Spoilsport."

"Sex addict."

"Party-pooper."

"Sex addict."

"Guy lover."

"Girl _and_ guy lover _and_ sex addict!"

"Alec, Belly, stop bickering. What were we talking about?"

"Jace creeping on Carrie which is _so totally hot_ while she sleeps, which reminds you and me of Edward Cullen and makes Alec uncomfortable. I wonder why."

"Right. Sometimes I wonder if he- Look! She moved!"

"I guess she's alive after all." A sigh. "I'll tell Hodge."

My eyelids were heavy and I felt like they were weighted when I opened them for the first time in three days. When had my eyelids gotten so darn heavy?

I blinked and saw clear blue sky above me, white puffy clouds and chubby angels with gilded ribbons trailing from their wrists. Was I dead? Could heaven really look that... _clichéd?_ I closed my eyes and opened them once again, realizing with relief that I was staring at was an arched wooden ceiling, painted with a rococo motif of clouds and cherubs. A church? What?

Laboriously, I hauled myself until I was propped up against a pillow. Every part of me ached, especially the back of my neck. I glanced around, noticing that I was tucked into a linen-sheeted bed, one of a long row of similar beds with metal headboards. My bed had a small nightstand beside it with a white pitcher and cup on it. Lace curtains were pulled across the windows, blocking the light from outside, and I couldn't hear the ever-present sounds of New York city traffic. An infirmary set up in a church in the middle of nowhere? Huh? Where was I?  
>That was so weird it could be one of my dreams.<p>

Dreams...

I bolted up into an abrupt sitting position, gasping, "_PHILIP!"_

"So, you're finally awake," said a pleasant voice. "And what's Philip?"

"My cat," I muttered, moderately tired from the strenuous activities of opening my eyes and sitting up. "He's all alone in my apartment with no one but demons for company. My poor kitty is probably getting eaten _right now_..."

"That's awful," the girl's voice said sympathetically. I turned. Someone I'd never seen before was perched on the next bed. She had dark brown hair and hazel eyes, seemed pretty tall, and was dressed comfortably in a T-shirt and basketball shorts, wearing rainbow-colored socks that went up to her shins and comfy-looking shoes. She looked about eighteen or nineteen, so I assumed she was Raven. "I'd hate it if my pet was cooped up with demons."

"Yeah," I said vaguely. "I wish I could rescue him, but I'm obviously in no condition for that." I smiled ruefully, gesturing at my hospital bed.

Raven's brow furrowed. "We could go get him for you," she offered. "I'm sure Alec would go along with me."

I brightened up. "Really?" I had just met the girl, and she was already pledging to save my cat. I wondered how I got in her good books already...

Alec appeared in the doorway. "Did somebody say my name?" he asked.

"Yeah," Raven said. "I'll meet you in the elevator in five minutes, okay?"

"Alright," he said, already out the door.

Raven continued with our conversation. "Definitely. Once Isabelle comes in for her shift." Ah, so they took shifts watching me? Odd, those Shadowhunters. Odd indeed.

Even more of my lucidity returned, and I saw that Raven was reading. By the looks of the pages, it was manga. My curiosity bugged me. I reached out and lifted the side closest to me up so that I could see the title... And instantly recognized it. "You like _Ouran High School Host Club?_" Huh. She was reading my most favorite manga and anime ever! But which volume...? "Gross. You're reading Volume 12?" I'd hurled that same issue at the Ravener.

She smiled. "Yeah. It's not the best one, by far."

"Kaoru is such a creeper in it, especially in Chapter 53. I can barely even tolerate _looking at_ page seven," I shuddered. "Does anyone else here like _Host Club_?"

Raven nodded. "I made Jace watch the anime and he kind of likes it, I guess, but Alec can't stand it and Belly just likes looking at the 'hawt' characters." I grinned. I could be friends with Raven, easily.

Isabelle strode into the infirmary. "Did somebody say my name?" That was the same thing that Alec had said... She smiled in an exceedingly disturbing way at me, wiping the grin off my face, waggling her eyebrows. _Ugh_. What was wrong with her? The complete _creeper!_

Her jet-black hair was in two low pigtails that fell halfway down her upper arms. Ripped leather-looking short-shorts and a tight blue tank top had replaced her white dress from Pandemonium, though the red pendant still winked at her throat. Pink legwarmers like I'd seen Jocelyn wear too many times wound from her calves to her ankles, opening to sky-blue high heels. Her dark, spiraling tattoos were gone, replaced with thin white scars from where they had been countless times before. And then there was the Creeper Smile she was giving me.

"Not exactly," I said conversationally. "Raven just threw out your name randomly. No big deal." I shrugged, and my natural smirk tried to return to my face. The left side of my mouth twitched uncomfortably from the exertion, but I didn't want to smile and give that Isabelle/Belly thing the wrong impression.

She pouted, obviously upset that we hadn't been talking about her. She plopped down next to Raven and said to me, "So, you're finally awake. Hodge will be pleased. _I_ thought you'd probably die in your sleep."

I blinked. "Thanks. I feel so _honored_," I said sarcastically, my smirk coming back of its own accord.

Isabelle whispered something to Raven that sounded suspiciously like, "Look... her... smirking... that..." But her voice rose in pitch as she said that, so I completely understood the last part: "Just like Jace."

I did _not_ want to be compared to that pretentious moron. I interjected, "Actually, I don't think I'm very much like Jace at all. He's obnoxious."

Isabelle choked at my eavesdropping, and Raven laughed to herself, saying, "He _is_ obnoxious, that's for sure."

I glanced around the room again. "Hey, is this the Institute?"

The Creeper rolled her eyes. "Is there anything Jace _didn't_ tell you?"

I was fed up at her. "Actually, he forgot to mention how completely _weird_ you are, and how you like to hit on girls. And then how you get all bitter and hostile after they reject your advances."  
>Isabelle opened her mouth indignantly, to my satisfaction, but Raven clapped a hand over her mouth and told me, "Yes, you're in the Institute. You're in the hospital wing, if you haven't figured that out already. Eww, Belly, that's disgusting! Don't lick my hand like that!"<p>

I hated to keep comparing my life to HP's magical life, but I couldn't resist the mental image of Madame Pomfrey bustling through the door Alec and then Isabelle had just come in, and forcing me to drink Skele-Gro. And that all came from Raven saying 'hospital wing'. Gosh, I was obsessed.

Raven stood up, telling me, "You still want me to go on a rescue mission for your cat?"

"If you could," I said, trying to sound meek. I disliked Isabelle, but Raven was nice enough.

There was no need to scare her off now.

"Alright." She grabbed a small notebook out of her pocket, along with a pen, handing them to me. "Can you write down your address so that Alec and I'll know where we're going?"

"Sure." I scribbled down what she asked for in my painfully neat handwriting, then giving it to her, along with the pen. "Thanks, really. It means a lot to me that you're going to get Philip."

"No problem." Raven waved a flippant hand, and then started walking out the door. "I'll see you both later, okay? Hopefully, I'll have Philip with me!"

And alas, I was left alone with Isabelle-the-creeper.

"So," she said, staring me down with dark brown eyes that reminded me of black coffee, fluttering her heavily made-up eyelashes. "Which side of the fence are you on?"

What kind of a question was _that_ to ask someone you'd just met? I feigned obliviousness.

"What?" I asked, putting a blank look on my face.

"You know... What team do you play for?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," I lied, putting on my extremely convincing 'innocent face'.

She groaned in frustration, barely recovering herself. "Lesbian, straight, bi?"

I raised my eyebrows in horror. "Straight! Why are you asking me?" AGH! She was even worse than Jace!

She ignored my question. Wow, a lot of people had been ignoring me lately. Grr. "Are you bi-curious at all?" she asked, smiling at me in a way that she probably (and mistakenly) thought was sexy.

"Not at all," I told her honestly without missing a beat.

Isabelle pouted again.

And a sudden, stabbing pain made me clutch at my stomach, gasping.

Isabelle looked at me in alarm. "Are you okay, cutie pie?"

"What do _you_ think?" I snapped, too irritated even to comment at the audacious nickname, becoming aware of an acid feeling in the back of my throat and a strange lightheadedness. "I just gasped in pain because I'm totally fine."

"Oh, right. I almost forgot. Hodge said to give you this when you woke up." Idiot! My pain was unnecessary just because she decided to hit on me instead of giving me a medication? She grabbed for the ceramic pitcher and poured some of its contents into the matching cup, which she, in turn, gave to me.

It was full of a cloudy liquid that steamed slightly. It smelled like herbs and something else, something rich and dark.

Chocolate? I wasn't sure.

Was it drinkable? Or was it _poisonous_? Was it safe for me to drink?

"You haven't eaten anything in three days," Isabelle pointed out. "That's probably why you feel sick. I'm surprised you didn't lose weight. I was trying to do the same thing, but it worked for me." Why was she trying to lose weight? She wasn't even chubby, just a bit curvy.

And sick? Pssh. Understatement of the Year award goes to 'Belly'. I glared at her in skepticism before hesitantly taking a sip. It was, strangely, delicious and satisfying, with a buttery aftertaste. "What is this, exactly?"

Isabelle shrugged. "One of Hodge's tisanes. They always work." She slid off the bed, landing on the floor. "I'm Isabelle Lightwood, by the way. I live here, and _you_ can come here whenever you want."

"I know that you live here. I'm not stupid." I drank the rest of the liquid in one gulp, holding out the cup so that she'd take it. "I'm Carrie. Carrie Fray. Let me guess, Jace brought me here?"  
>She took the cup, nodding. "Hodge was furious. You got ichor and blood all over the carpet in the entryway. If he'd done it while my parents were here, he'd have gotten grounded for sure." She looked narrowly at me. "Jace said you killed that Ravener demon all by yourself."<br>"You don't need to sound so surprised about it. I'm fully capable of handling myself, thank you."

"But you're a mundie."

"Miraculous, isn't it?" I said, taking much pleasure in the annoyed expression on her face.

"Where's Jace? I want to accost him about kidnapping me."

She sniffed, "Somewhere." Was that her way of telling me how the fact that I had more interest in Jace than her, affected her? "I should go tell everyone you're up. Hodge'll want to talk to you."

"Your tutor, right?"

"Hodge tutors us all," she said pointlessly. What did she take me for, a simpleton? She jerked her head at a door I hadn't seen. "The bathroom's through there, and I hung some of my old clothes on the towel rack in case you want to change, cutie pie."

I looked down at what I was wearing under the sheet, finding an oversized T-shirt that barely covered my thighs. I knew I had a blanket on, but they honestly let Jace stalk my sleeping when I was dressed _that indecently_? "What happened to _my_ clothes?"

"They were covered in blood and poison. Jace burned them." _What?_ What about my awesome, custom-made hi-tops? "Except your shoes." Thank God.

But still, he burned the rest of my clothes. Who took them off my unconscious body...? I hoped it wasn't Jace. Was everyone in this Institute a creeper? "Is he always a pretentious moron, or does he save that for the girls he stalks?"

"Oh, he's rude to everyone," Isabelle said airily. "It's why I call him sexy pants." Ah, so she was bisexual. That explained a lot. "That, and he's killed more demons than anyone else his age."  
>I asked innocently, widening my gray eyes, "You think your brother is sexy?" That was freakish. I was <em>so<em> glad that I was an only child.

That got her attention. She laughed aloud. "Jace? My brother? Hell no! What gave you that idea?"

"Well, he lives here with you," I said. "Or at least, that's what he told me." Kind of. He'd alluded to it, at least.

Isabelle nodded. "Yeah, but..."

"What happened to his parents?" I asked inquisitively, cutting her off..

She looked uncomfortable for a fleeting moment. "They're kind of... dead."

"Ah," I said in realization. "Good thing I asked you instead of him, I guess. Did they die tragically in some horrible accident?" I was a sucker for interesting stories.

"No," she said, fidgeting, pushing one of her pigtails behind her ear. "His mother died when he was born. His father was murdered when he was ten. Jace saw the whole thing."

"Yikes," I exhaled, kind of impressed. That was one heck of a back-story. "Is that why he seems kind of... well... messed up in the head?"

Isabelle said, "Look, I'm going to tell everyone that you're alive. They've been waiting for you to open your eyes for three days. Oh, and there's soap in the bathroom. You might want to clean up a little. You smell."

I said with my nose in the air, "_Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me."_

She gave me a weird look. "Mundanes are weird."

"You're telling me?"

Isabelle's clothes looked ridiculous. Especially on me.

I had to roll the legs on the jeans up several times before I stopped tripping on them, and the plunging neckline of the red tank top only emphasized my lack of what Eric would have called, "a rack." I felt practically naked. Didn't Isabelle have anything _normal_? I would have even settled for a ratty T-shirt instead of those monstrosities. The only _good part_ about my ensemble was the fact that I was wearing my favorite hi-tops since Isabelle had laid them out for me. I found myself appreciating Isabelle more, but not by much. I didn't even care that my shoes didn't go with the rest of the outfit, they were still wickedly kewl.

But, I had to admit that, even though the clothes were _not_ my style, I could pull this look off. I remembered when I was in a satire sort of mock-Shakespearean play and had to wear breeches, tights, and a flowy shirt with ruffled cuffs. The costume lady had told me that I looked the best out of everyone in the play, and that it "didn't hurt" that I was "as thin as a rail". I still wanted a sweatshirt now…

I cleaned myself up in the small bathroom, using a bar of hard lavender soap. Drying myself with a white hand towel left damp hair straggling around my face in fragrant tangles. Soon, the just-longer-than-shoulder-length parts framing my face (from when I'd decided to grow out my Child Bangs several years before) would dry into tight ringlets, which would contrast beautifully to the rest of my wavy, _totes awesome_ mane.

I studied my reflection in the mirror. My eyes had dark lilac circles underneath as if I _hadn't_ just slept for three days straight, and my lips were swollen.

I decided that I'd have to call the Wolverine about this craziness. Surely, there was a phone around here _somewhere_. Shadowhunters didn't live like the Amish, did they? And where had my purse gotten to? My cell phone (probably dead by now) was inside, along with the rest of my stuff. If Jace had burned it, I'd kill him. Without hesitation.

And then I found that I was bored out of my mind. What was I supposed to do, lounge around in the hospital wing (Madame Pomfrey, hehehe) until someone came to talk to me? Not a chance. I wasn't the passive sort of person.

Time to explore!

The corridor (ha ha, HP reference) outside the infirmary was empty. I glanced down it, perplexed. It looked straight out of a bad nightmare sequence in some movie: dimly-lit and infinite. Glass lamps blown into the shapes of budding roses hung at intervals on the walls, and the air smelled like dust and candle wax.

In the distance, I could hear a faint and delicate noise, like wind chimes shaken by a storm. I set off down the corridor, trailing a hand along the wall. The Victorian-era wallpaper was faded with age, burgundy and pale gray. How lame. Each side of the corridor was lined with closed doors.  
>The sound I was following was growing louder. I identified it as the sound of a piano being played with desultory but undeniable skill. Hmm. If I had to put a name on the tune, I'd bet it was <em>Suite bergamasque<em> by Debussy, second movement. I only knew because Jocelyn occasionally blasted the classical music station on the radio while she was painting.

Turning the corner, I came to a doorway, the door propped fully open. Peering in, I saw what was clearly a music room. A shining, polished grand piano stood in one corner, and rows of chairs were arranged against the far wall. A covered harp occupied the center of the room. A violin was in its half-opened case on a table. The high ceiling was the same as in the hospital room with the rococo motif of heaven, the mural continuing on in a pattern of vines and foliage on the walls.

Jace was seated at the grand piano, his slender hands moving rapidly over the keys. He was barefoot, dressed in jeans and a gray T-shirt, his tawny hair ruffled up around his head as if he'd just woken up. Watching the quick, sure movements of his hands across the keys while he played_, _I wrinkled my nose as I remembered his insisting that he carry me when I was _obviously_ able to walk fine. Okay, maybe I wasn't, but that didn't mean I had to _like_ it.

I must have made some noise, because he twisted around on the stool, blinking into the shadows.

"Alec?" he said. "Is that you?"

"Wrong," I chirped, stepping farther into the room. "It's me, your hostage."

Piano keys jangled as he got to his feet. "Our own Sleeping Beauty. Who finally kissed you awake?"

I muttered darkly, "It looked like Isabelle _wanted_ to, the creeper..."

He grinned. "She gets like that sometimes. I find it best to ignore her then." He crossed his arms.

"So, Belly was with you when you woke up?"

"No, Raven was, but she went off with Alec to rescue my cat."

Isabelle appeared in the doorway. "Did somebody say my name?" What was with her? Was that a pattern that she showed up whenever anyone mentioned her by name?

Alec appeared behind her. "Yeah, same here. Did somebody say _my_ name?"

"Alec!" I said. "You're supposed to be finding my cat!"

"Well, we're back," he said unhelpfully.

"Oh, right. I do remember you mentioning a cat," Jace said thoughtfully. "I would have gotten him, since I know where your house is."

"Yeah, well, you weren't around at the time," I remarked airily. "And Raven volunteered. That's when this creeper," I gestured to Isabelle, "came in, but she left quickly. Went off to get someone. Hodge, I think. I'm not sure I was supposed to leave the infirmary, but-"

He cut me off, looking at Isabelle with humor in his gold eyes. "I should have warned you about Carrie's habit of never doing what she's told."

"What can I say?" I smirked. "I'm rebellious, and there's no problem with that. And besides, I found a loophole. She never told me to stay, and she never told me to leave. I chose the latter, obviously."

"Well, I think I'll get out of here," Alec said uncomfortably, grimacing at me. "Come on, Isabelle."

He walked out, and Isabelle said, "I'm right behind you, sweet thing. I'm going to tell Hodge that they're on their way." She grinned at Jace, and then me. "See you later, sexy-pants. You too, cutie pie." Then she winked and left.

"Do they always do that?" I asked Jace.

"It's a Lightwood habit. They get it from their father." Jace squinted at me, looking me up and down. "Are those Isabelle's clothes? They look ridiculous on you."

Isabelle poked her head around the corner. "Did somebody say my name?"

"GO AWAY," Jace told her in no uncertain terms.

"Fine," she said, and flounced off.

"I know I look I ridulous," I sighed. "Doesn't she have anything normal in her closet?" The way he was staring at me made me self-conscious. "And may I point out that you _burned my clothes_."

"It was purely precautionary." He slid the gleaming piano cover closed. "Come on, I'll take you to Hodge."

And just as we were about to leave, a breathless Raven appeared in the doorway, beaming and holding a certain cat. "Oh, Carrie..." she said.

"Philip!" I cried, opening my arms as Philip jumped off her and bounded into my legs. I picked him up until he was looking over my shoulder, and then I said to Raven, "Thank you, so much. Really, this means a lot to me." I cooed to Philip, "You're not dead after all!" He meowed at me as if to say, '_Of _course_ I'm not dead. Do you doubt my mad survival skillz?_'

"No problem," Raven said. "We found him on your front steps ravaging a dead bird. He's fine."  
>I stroked Philip's gray and black fur, and he purred. "Yeah, we just saw Alec."<p>

"Did somebody say my name?" he asked, suddenly appearing in the doorway.

"Alec?" said Jace. "No offense to you, but please leave."

"Okay, Jace," he relented, wearing an expression that made him look like a kicked puppy as he left.

"Wow, Alec sure has been acting weird lately," Raven shrugged, before waving at Jace and me.

"Bye, guys, I'll see you later. If you need me, I'm up in the greenhouse." Then she exited.  
>Jace looked at Philip. "So this is your cat of legend."<p>

"Yes. Philip, meet Jace. Jace, meet Philip." I moved my cat to resting in front of me in my arms. Jace petted him, scratching my kitty behind the ears.

"Philip, you say? Strange name for a cat."

I pulled said cat out of his reach. If Jace was going to diss my cat, then he couldn't pet him. 'Nuff said. "He's named after Philip II of France, who was nicknamed 'Augustus'. He's my favorite French monarch, because he was awesome. Is there a problem with that?"

Jace looked amused. "No, it's reasonable. Come on, we still need to see Hodge."

And thus, Jace, Philip, and I went to see Hodge.

The Institute was impressively humongous, a vast cavernous space. Through half-open doors, I glimpsed countless identical rooms, each with a stripped bed, a nightstand, and a large wooden wardrobe standing open. Pale arches of stone held up the high ceilings, many of the arches intricately carved to look like statues of angels. I noticed certain repeating motifs: the same angels and swords, suns and roses. It reminded me of some strange, themed hotel.  
>Or psychiatric ward, come to think of it.<p>

It seemed like we were walking in circles, down staircases and then up some more and over again, but always down long hallways. I was getting tired. Was Jace thinking that he was going to carry me the rest of the way there? No, sir!  
>"Why so many bedrooms?" I wondered as we passed some for the billionth time. "Aren't there only a few of you?" Maybe it <em>did<em> serve as a psych ward for these Shadowhunting types.

"This is the residential wing. We're pledged to offer safety and lodging to any Shadowhunter who requests it. We can house up to two hundred people here." I felt like I was on some bizarre real estate tour.

"No guests at the moment?"

"People come and go. Nobody stays for long. Usually it's just us- Alec, Isabelle, Max, their parents- and me and Raven and Hodge." Tsk, tsk. Bad grammar at that last bit, Jace. For shame.

"Max?"

"You met the beauteous Isabelle?" Not the adjective I would have used. More like 'psychotic'. "Alec is her elder brother. Max is the youngest, but he's overseas with his parents."

Lucky child. "Not vacationing, I expect?" Somehow, Shadowhunters didn't seem like the type to take vacations.

Speaking of psychotic Isabelle, "Did somebody say my name?"

"Go. Away. Isabelle," Jace said, sounding extremely irritated.

Alec showed up after her. "Did somebody say- Oh. Never mind." He skulked off into the darkness of the hallway, Isabelle following him.

"Right." Jace hesitated. "You can think of the Lightwoods as... as foreign diplomats, and of this as an embassy of sorts." Strange analogy, strange person, I guess. "Right now they're in the Shadowhunter home country working out some very delicate peace negotiations. They brought Max with them because he's so young." And left the rest behind? That hardly seemed fair. It didn't make any sense. Why would they bring the youngest one with them?

"So there's a Shadowhunter home country. What's it called, Shadowhunter-land?" I asked sarcastically. "With a big sign that says 'NO DEMONS ALLOWED'?"

"No, actually, it's called Idris," Jace said pleasantly.

"Pssh, silly name. Idris. Who came up with _that_ nonsense?" I found it extremely easy to be my arrogant self around Jace.

"Art thou mocking the sacred name of Idris?"

"Perhaps," I said vaguely, petting Philip. "Either way, I've never heard of it."

"You wouldn't have." Irritating superiority found its way back into his voice. "Mundanes don't know about it. There are wardings- protective spells- up all over the borders. If you tried to cross into Idris, you'd simply find yourself transported instantly from one border to the next. You'd never know what happened."

"Reminds me of-" I started, but Jace interrupted me.

"Harry Potter, I'm guessing? It seems like, for everything I've been telling you for the past hour, you compare it to Harry Potter and tell me." We'd been walking for an hour? What kind of wild-goose chase was he leading me on?

I pursed my lips. He was wrong! No, the worst part was that he was right. We had been talking as we walked for the _hour_, and I'd found a way to somehow compare almost everything he said to the magical world of HP. "Is there a problem with that, blondie?"

"Not at all, _little girl_." His smirk said to me, '_Two can play at that game.'_

I decided to get back on topic and stop looking at his gold eyes, which were too intriguing for their own good. "So, this... Idris, or what have you, has been completely hidden from Muggl- sorry, _mundanes_- and none of them have even discovered it accidentally?" I was in my arrogant-sarcastic-curious mode.

"You know, you're smarter than you look, Carrie."

I snorted. "I'd say the same about you, except I'd be lying. You look dim and you _are_ dim. I guess we can't all be blessed with great brainpower."

"Exactly. You could use some yourself."

"Why are you talking to yourself in second person? If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were talking to me." My smirk intensified, and I laughed once. "Then again, we both know that you simply _couldn't_ be talking to me, since I'm so intelligent that it hurts the weak-minded such as yourself." I hadn't had a good battle of wits in ages, if not ever. The best battles of wits occurred between two supremely arrogant people, and that was happening currently. It was fun.

"_Touché_, mundane."

"You know I just beat you at your own game, _Shadowhunter_." Then I remembered Shadowhunter-land. "So, where, exactly, is Idris?"

"For our purposes, you can consider it a small country between Germany and France." He sped up his walking pace, so I had to try and match mine to his. Darn tall people.

"But _Switzerland_ is between Germany and France," I protested. "And lots of mountains, too."

"Precisely," said Jace.

"I take it you've been to Shadowhunter-land Idris?"

"I grew up there." Jace's tone was neutral, but something in his voice let me knew that more questions in that direction would be unwelcome. Not that I cared, of course, or would take that warning of sorts seriously. "Most of us do. There are, of course, Shadowhunters all over the world. We have to be everywhere, because demonic activity is everywhere. But to a Shadowhunter, Idris is always home."

"Kind of like Mecca or Jerusalem, I suppose," I said thoughtfully. Or Disney World, to most children. "So, do most of you grow up in Idris?"

"We're sent where we're needed," Jace said shortly. "And there are a few, like Is-," he broke off and faltered, before correcting himself, "the Lightwoods and Raven, who grow up away from the home country because that's where their parents are. With all the resources of the Institute here, with Hodge's training-" He broke off. "This is the library."

We had reached an arch-shaped set of wooden doors. Something was fishy because Philip yowled and jumped off my shoulder, stalking back and forth in front of me territorially. I hoped it wasn't a dog; Philip hated dogs. Except for Maddie and Simon's dogs, of course, but that went without saying.

It was another cat, a blue Persian cat with yellow eyes. It had been sleeping when we approached. The cat meowed and rose to its feet, going up to Philip and sniffing him. Philip did the same, and I knew the two would be very good friends indeed. It was about time that my kitty got friends of his own species, anyway. So far, his only friends were the twins' dogs, Archie (a yellow lab) and Jughead (a cranky Pomeranian).

"Hey, Church," Jace said, stroking the cat's back with a bare foot. The cat slit its eyes in pleasure.  
>I grinned. "And you think <em>Philip<em> is a silly name for a cat?" Who named their cat _Church?_ How inexplicably lame!

"No, not anymore." And then he stared at me again. Why did he keep looking at me? Was it because I was dressed in Isabelle's clothes so ridiculously? Was my hair an odd shape? Did I have a second head growing out of the back of my neck? Apparently not, since he was peering into my eyes, and all I could see was gold.

A thought struck me as I turned my head to the side, looking at the bottom edge of the wall, letting my light brown, nearly blonde, wavy mane fall into a curtain between my face and Jace's gaze. "Hey, hold on a second. Al- the _Lightwoods_ and Raven- they're the only Shadowhunters your age that you know, that you spend time with?" How... depressing.  
>I made the mistake of turning back to face him, and Jace hadn't broken the uncomfortable gaze.<p>

"Yes."

I voiced my thoughts. "How... depressing." Meanwhile, I concealed my discomfort at staring straight into his eyes.

"I have everything I need." He pushed the doors open. I glanced down at Philip, who was lounging around next to Church. They'd be okay, I guessed. I'd leave Philip there. No need for him to get all skittish in the library.

So, after that brief hesitation, I followed Jace inside.

The library was circular, with a ceiling that tapered to a point, as if it had been built inside a clichéd tower. It even had the same pattern of angels as the hospital wing... And had the same vaulted ceiling...

"_Jace!_" I accused. "This is on the same floor as the hospital wing, isn't it?"

He shrugged, and grinned at my reaction. "Perhaps."

"You mean we've been walking around in _circles_ for the past _hour_ because you _felt like it?!_ Pretentious! Moron!" I said, hitting his arm twice.

The walls were lined with books, the shelves so high that tall ladders set on casters were placed along them at intervals. It rather reminded me of the Disney movie _Beauty and the Beast_. These were no ordinary books either- these were books bound in leather and velvet, clasped with sturdy-looking locks and hinges made of brass and silver. Their spines were studded with dully-glowing jewels and illuminated with gold script, like what monks did in the Dark Ages. They looked worn in a way that made it clear that these books were not just old but were well used, and had been loved.

I thought of my three bookshelves in my room, bursting with neatly organized books (I was actually quite lax with cleaning, usually- "organized chaos" was my forte. Except when it came to my bookshelves, which I kept impeccable and in alphabetical order). But still. Three meager bookshelves as opposed to this colossal, magnificent room. I felt insanely jealous, and it showed on my face.

The floor was polished wood, inlaid with chips of glass, marble, and bits of semiprecious stone. The inlay formed an obscure pattern- constellations? map of the world? map of _Hogwarts?_ - and I understood that it needed an aerial view to be fully appreciated.  
>In the center of the room sat a glorious desk. It was carved from a single slab of wood, a great, heavy piece of oak that gleamed with the dull shine of years. But then I noticed the bases for the desk. The slab of wood rested upon the backs of two angels, carved from the same type of wood, their wings gilded and their faces engraved with a look of suffering, as if the weight of the slab were breaking their backs. What demented type of person would make a desk like <em>that?<em> What I had just found amazing now seemed dark and sinister. A thin man with gray-streaked hair wearing a gray tweed suit stood in front of the desk, his back turned to us, muttering something unintelligible under his breath.

"Carrie, meet Hodge," said Jace.

Hodge didn't turn around. "Ah, it's about time you got here. Isabelle told me you were on your way over an hour ago, Jace."

"We took the scenic route," Jace replied.

"Sure we did, blondie," I muttered under my breath.

Hodge sat down at his desk then, looking at me for the first time. He saw my face and screamed.

"AAGH! You!" he faltered. "I mean, hello." His eyes were wide and he had a long, beaky nose, his face blanched from when he first saw me as if he'd just witnessed something paranormal (like on the show Ghost Adventures! Ah, Zak Bagans), muttering yet another something under his breath.

Isabelle predictably strode into the library behind us. "Did somebody just say my name?"

Jace glared at her with practised ease. "Isabelle. Get out."

"Fine," she said in a wounded tone. "See you later, sexy-pants."

Meanwhile, I was studying the books.

"A book lover, I see," Hodge said, weakly smiling at me in obvious reparation for his initial reaction. I stiffened. "You didn't tell me that, Jace."

I heard soft footsteps and, without turning around, knew that Jace was probably standing right behind me with his hands in his pockets. And grinning, because of his tone of voice. "We haven't done much talking during our short acquaintance. I'm afraid our reading habits didn't come up."  
>I repressed an indignant, "Pssh," and instead turned around to briefly glare at Jace. And I was right: there he was, in exactly the same position I had guessed. I swiveled back to face Hodge and said with a grin, "I suppose you saw my jealous expression?"<p>

"Exactly," he said. "The look on your face when you were studying the books gave it all away. Somehow, I doubted you were that impressed by _me_." Low self-esteem issues?

But then he rose from his chair, and I looked at his left shoulder in wonder. It seemed a bit misshapen, kind of like that of Hephaestus from Greek mythology (call me an HP freak/mythology buff if you must, since they're both true), and then I realized that it was a bird. A glossy feathered creature with bright black eyes. Eerie much?

"This is Hugo," the man said, touching the bird on his shoulder. "Hugo is a very wise bird indeed, and, as such, he knows many things." Well, _duh_, if he was such a _wise_ bird. Pssh. Adults were _sooo_ underestimating of adolescent intelligence. "I, meanwhile, am Hodge Starkweather, a professor of history, and, as such, I do not know nearly enough." Definite low self-esteem issues.

This guy needed a boost of confidence, so I decided to work on that in the future. I politely introduced myself to him. "I'm Carrie Fray, definite book lover, self-proclaimed Harry Potter freak, and mythology buff. Nice to meet you."

"Honored to make your acquaintance," he said, but his eyes still looked panicked. "I would be honored to make the acquaintance of anyone who could kill a Ravener with her bare hands."  
>This guy was repetitive. Disgusting! I masked my emotions, putting on a modest smile. "Oh, it was nothing, really." Jace snorted, so I sought immediate revenge for both that, and the fact that he was staring me down earlier and led me on the wild goose chase. "It did really help me that Jace had given me his Sensor-thing as a souvenir before I fought it, though." I turned and grinned angelically at Jace. "I never really got to thank you for that. Giving me the Sensor for keeps, that is. It was really neat and the symbols were classy, so it's a shame I had to shove it down the throat of a bloodthirsty demon. But still, it was a nice present." I reached up and patted the top of his head condescendingly, which made him scowl, to my satisfaction. "It's the thought that counts."<p>

"Jace," said Hodge in a warning tone. "You gave your Sensor to a mundane as a trinket?" Jace was in trouble now. That would show the pretentious moron!

"No-" Jace said hopelessly. I guffawed internally at his floundering-fish expression.  
>I interrupted him, saying matter-of-factly to Hodge, "Don't believe a word he says. I've only known him for a couple days, but I know he's a habitual liar, and that he likes giving girls things to show off." I shook my head, looking to the ground in disapproval. "It was extremely irresponsible of him."<p>

Jace gaped at me. "I never-"

"See how he protests? He's lying through his teeth, Mr. Hodge, sir." Now I was currying favor with the man. I put on a facade of sorrow. "I'm sorry for letting him break rules. I know now that I shouldn't have accepted it."

Hodge bestowed upon Jace a steely, squinty-eyed look, raising an eyebrow, but then sighed. "I will forgive you this time, Jace, but if it happens again, I am afraid I shall not be as forgiving."  
>Jace's face was blank. Oh, sweet victory! Lying had never been so much fun! All that untruth-telling was making me <em>giddy!<em> "Yes, Hodge. I'll keep that in mind." Jace glowered at me, so I beamed blandly back at him. Sweet, sweet victory. Revenge? Fulfilled.

The real question was whether or not _he_ would now seek revenge against _me._

Hodge looked kindly at me, still with the guarded look in his eyes. "Please, do not blame yourself for Jace's actions. You did not know any better."

"Thanks," I said, smiling brilliantly. "The Sensor did come in handy, though." I let my face darken as I said, "When I understood that that Ravener was going to kill me, I grabbed the first thing I could find, which just so happened to be Jace's Sensor, and I shoved it in the thing's mouth." I bit my lip, the perfect picture of Unlikely Heroine Who Is Still Traumatized by Scary Experience. "I wasn't trying to choke it or anything... But it worked."

Jace said emotionlessly, to my delight, "The runes must have been what killed it. I guess I'll need another Sensor."

"There are several extra in the weapons room," Hodge told him briskly. Did he say _weapons room?_ Awe. Some.

Before I could remark upon my glee, a sharp laugh sounded through the room. I'd been so distracted by getting Jace in trouble and the books and Hodge that I hadn't even _noticed_ that Alec was sprawled in an overstuffed red armchair by the empty fireplace. But what was with his sour expression? He looked like he'd just smelled something disgusting. "I can't believe you buy her story, Hodge," he said.

I studied him in curiosity. He looked a _lot_ like Isabelle. Seriously, the resemblance was staggering. The same jet-black hair, slender eyebrows winging up at the corners, pale skin just tanner than mine. But where Isabelle was the slutty, throws-her-looks-in-your-face sort of person, Alec slumped in the chair like he'd hoped that nobody would notice him. Well, if he didn't want attention, he shouldn't have spoken. Easy. His lashes were long and dark like Isabelle's, but where her eyes were blackish, his were the dark blue of bottle glass. And they stared at me with a hostility as pure and concentrated as acid.

Was I _supposed_ to feel afraid of this strange boy who seemed like he loathed me on sight just like _I_ felt towards most vegetables?

"Excuse me?" I asked tonelessly, narrowing my eyes and making my gaze as cold and gray as a frozen ocean. "Did you just say something?" I _hated _when people got all hostile towards me, and my defensive side always came out involuntarily.

And _this_ was the guy who had valiantly rescued Philip? _What?_ I wouldn't EVER trust someone as strange as Alec with someone as precious and lovable as my dear Philip! If I had only _known_ that Alec was like that, I wouldn't have let him help. Some way, somehow, he wouldn't have been able to even get _near_ my Philip-kitten.

Someone standing behind me laid a warm, large hand on my bare shoulder. I turned abruptly, gasping and parting my lips. Jace. Jace was _touching_ me. "Carrie, calm down," he said. "It's just Alec."

I shrugged off his hand, simply looking at the blonde with an eyebrow raised. He'd done the unspeakable. He'd _touched_ Catherine Renee Fray. Was he _wishing_ for a death sentence?  
>Most guys who broke my silent "No-Touchie" rule tried to force-kiss me. Too many to count had tried, and none had succeeded. I'd pummeled them into the next week before they'd even brushed their lips against mine, since my reflexes were so top notch. The last guy was in the hospital for a month.<p>

And that was the main reason that Simon and Maddie's friend Eric was deathly afraid of me. He had been in the hospital for approximately three and a half weeks.

And this _Jace_ thing actually put a hand on my shoulder. I'd let it slide since he knew no better, but such gestures would no longer be tolerated.

Ah, yes. No one messed with Carrie Fray.

That is, unless they were willing to die.

Hodge said, "I'm not quite sure what you mean, Alec." I stepped a few paces away from Jace to discourage him further and looked over Hodge. I wondered how old he was. He seemed kind of ageless, even though his hair was graying. He wore a fancy gray-tweed suit, perfectly pressed. He would have looked like a normal college professor except for the thick scar that drew up the right side of his face. How did he get that? Had he been in a bear fight? A _bar_ fight? Some sort of freak accident? "Are you suggesting that she didn't kill that demon after all?"

"Of _course_ she didn't, Hodge," Alec said in exasperation. I noted Jace creeping a few inches closer to me. _Ugh_. As if it wasn't bad enough that Alec was insulting me like I wasn't in the room. "Look at her- she's a mundie, and a little kid at that." Huh? Did Crazy-Boy just call me a _little kid_? I knew I didn't quite look my age, but that was going too far. "There's no way she took on a Ravener."

"Well, you'd better believe it, _old teenager_," I said in a dangerous tone, my anger building. "I'm no little kid. Just because you're older and taller than me doesn't mean a _thing_." My rage kept building, until I couldn't control it anymore. My humble semblance slipped completely, and I lost the innocent edge I'd had a moment before. I grabbed a paperweight off a nearby table and, without even thinking about it, hurled it at Alec with my uncanny precision. It struck him in the chest, as I'd expected, and by then, I already had a second paperweight ready for launch. Alec gaped, horror-struck, at me like I'd just murdered someone, or stolen the Mona Lisa and burned it, or announced ambitions to persecute Shadowhunters, or accused him of being a Mudblood.  
>Hodge's expression was panicked for a split second, as if remembering something awful. His lips formed a word that must have started with a V or something, but he regained control of his face so quickly that I half-expected that I'd imagined the change.<p>

I took a deep breath, closing my eyes and opening them slowly. My cold glare was specifically reserved for a Mr. Alec Lightwood, and I said evenly, "And anyway, I'm fifteen. Sixteen in December." My hand curled into a fist, and I dug my nails into my palm so that I could focus on the pain and therefore stay grounded. "Don't talk down to me."

"Just younger than Isabelle," Hodge said in a shaky tone, coughing to cover it up. "Would you call her a child?"

Alec fingered the paperweight, looking at it as if to certify that it was real. He said dryly, "Isabelle hails from one of the greatest Shadowhunting dynasties in the world. This girl, on the other hand, hails from New Jersey."

"I don't, actually," I said with a pleasant grin that didn't match my eyes. "I'm from New York. Brooklyn, to be exact." Scary-calm. That's what I was projecting. I looked to the floor, and put a ghostly smirk on my face. "And, dear, _dear_ Alec, how can you be so sure that I _don't_ come from a Shadowhunting family like you?" What I was suggesting was ridiculous and probably wrong, but I didn't care. "Anything is possible."

Isabelle came in again. "Did somebody say my name?"

"Isabelle, leave. Now," Alec said through clenched teeth.

"Fine," Isabelle said, before flouncing off again.

"And shut up, you," Alec continued, addressing me.

I raised my eyebrows. "Oho?" The wraithlike smile still hadn't left my face. "And may I ask a question of your magnificence, you _fizz-tard_?" That last word was of my own invention, and I was quite proud of it. Fizz was my overall substitute for bad words, and it seemed to fit in this circumstance. "What gives you the right to judge me? You're no better than I. We are all humans in this room, yes? So _why_ do you feel the need to criticize me?" My voice was calm and plain, like I was chatting about the weather. "Just because I'm not a rich, _spoiled brat_ like you and your creepy sister doesn't give you any rights over me." I decided upon _really_ freaking him out and quoting a modified Jesus at him. "So go ahead, stone me with your words. But let ye without sin throw the first stone." I smirked lazily.

"What?" Alec asked, looking astonished. "What did you call me and _what_ was that last bit?"  
>Jace actually laughed from too close behind me, so close that I felt his breath move my hair. He said, "She has a point, Alec. Now, since I'm sin-free, can I throw a figurative stone at-" I barely resisted my face-palm.<p>

"It's not _funny_, Jace!" Alec interrupted, leaping to his feet. "Are you just going to let her stand there and call me names and throw things at me?"

"Yes," Jace said kindly. What was he getting at? I'd half-expected him to jump down my throat and defend Alec. "It'll do you good- try to think of it as endurance training. And besides, it's funny."

"We may be _parabatai_," Alec said tightly. "But your flippancy is wearing on my patience." Alec was one to talk about being annoying, the hypocrite. Again about throwing stones.

"And your obstinacy is wearing on mine. Come on, Alec. Man up. I know you're one; we shared a room until last year." The look on Alec's face made it clear that he wished that that was still happening. "And when I found her, she was lying on the floor in a pool of blood with a dying demon practically on top of her. I watched as it vanished. If she didn't kill it, who did?" I KILLED IT, OF COURSE.

"Raveners are stupid," Alec suggested weakly. "Maybe it got itself in the neck with its stinger. It's happened before-"

"Now you're suggesting it committed suicide?"

Alec's mouth tightened. "It isn't right for her to be here. Mundies aren't allowed in the Institute, and there are good reasons for that. If anyone knew about this, we could be reported to the Clave."

"That's not entirely true," Hodge said quickly. I'd almost forgotten he was in the room, actually, consumed with my anger at Alec. "The Law does allow us to offer sanctuary to mundanes in certain circumstances. A Ravener has already attacked Carrie's mother- she could well have been next."

Attacked.

Was that a euphemism for 'murdered'? If Jocelyn died... I didn't even want to think about it.  
>I found it harder to keep my expression under control when I was thinking of the endless possibilities for what could be happening to Jocelyn right then, and distracted myself with the annoying cawing of Hodge's bird.<p>

"Raveners are search-and-destroy machines," Alec said, which gave me another distraction. "They act under orders from warlocks or powerful demon lords. Now, what interest would a warlock or demon lord have in an ordinary mundane household?" His blue eyes were bright with dislike when he looked at me, so I glared venomously at Undesirable Number One. "Any thoughts?"

I said, "Well, if you're so smart, you should know. I don't pretend like I know what Jocelyn- my mother- gets up to in her free time. So why are you asking me? I'm just a mundane, and a little kid at that. At least... that's what _you_ say I am." I put a patronizing tone in my voice, and smirked slightly. JESUS CHRIST (Superstar) BURN!

Alec said in exasperation, "Demons don't make these kinds of mistakes. If they were after your mother, there must have been a reason. If she were innocent-"

"Innocent?" I demanded. "What do you mean by 'innocent'?" I kind of felt like whipping the other paperweight that I was still holding at Alec.

He looked taken aback. "I-"

Hodge interrupted him, eyes glinting apprehensively. "What he means is that it is extremely unusual for a powerful demon, the kind who might command a host of lesser demons, to interest himself in the affairs of human beings. No mundane may summon a demon- they lack that power- but there have been some, desperate and foolish, who have found a witch or warlock to do it for them."

I pushed some hair out of my eyes, since my overly-long, oddly straight side bangs of sorts had fallen into my face again. Should I bring up the Valentine character that the Ravener had mentioned? Jace had hinted at Pandemonium that Valentine was dead, but the Ravener spoke like the guy was still alive. "Are you insinuating that my mother- my scatterbrained, idiotic mother that's obsessed with tiaras and boas- got someone to summon a demon for her and then disappear, not caring that said demon might try to kill me when I came home? Are you _insane_? Jocelyn's stupid, but not _that_ stupid. And... and she called me when I was being stalked by Jace, and it sounded like someone had sicced that Ravener on _her_. Something was breaking in, right at that moment." My tone became slightly hysterical. "She was in trouble, and that woman isn't a good enough actress to fake _that_." Unlike myself, of course. I was a phenomenal actress, and a liar by profession. So... why was I telling the truth now? My words tumbled out of me in a torrential flood of worry, which prompted Jace to put _both_ his hands on _both_ my shoulders from behind. I snapped at him, "Will you cut that out and stop touching me?"

"I highly doubt that your mother summoned the Ravener, Carrie," Hodge said gently, but still apprehensively. "Is there anything else you can tell us?"

"Yes," I said. "The Ravener kept mentioning a Valentine." Hodge just about jumped out of his skin with a scream, so I backtracked. "I just thought I'd bring that up because, well, Jace brought up the same name at Pandemonium and said that he was dead, and the Ravener talked about him like he was alive."

"Thank you, but that is... most irrelevant," Hodge stammered. I knew he was lying, but I didn't press the issue. Being a liar, I could easily tell when others weren't telling the truth. And I'd bet anything that Hodge wasn't at that moment. "And we're back where we began. It seems the time has come to notify the Clave." He nervously stroked the bird on his shoulder, changing the subject.

"No!" Jace protested. "We can't-"

"It made sense to keep Carrie's presence here a secret while we were not sure she would recover," Hodge said. "But now she has, and she is the first mundane to pass through the doors of the Institute in over a hundred years. You know the rules about mundane knowledge of Shadowhunters, Jace. The Clave must be informed." Ah, so I wasn't supposed to know anything. Whatever, it was all Jace's fault. What was the worst this Clave could do, kill me? Wipe my memory like the "_Obliviate_" spell in Harry Potter ? There were worse things.

"Absolutely," Alec agreed. "I could get a message to my father-"

"She's not a mundane," Jace said quietly. _What_? Well, I _had_ said myself that anything was possible, but was he crazy?

Hodge's eyebrows shot back up to his hairline and stayed there. Alec, caught in the middle of a sentence, choked with surprise.

"Why do you say that?" I asked. For once, my voice wasn't full of false charm or real arrogance or boiling anger or _anything_. It was just... normal. Wow, that meant I was extremely taken aback!

"Because you aren't," said Jace. I turned to look at him. He stared at Hodge after catching my gaze, and I caught the slight movement of his throat when he swallowed. So, Jace was nervous. Fascinating. "That night- there were Du'sien demons, dressed like police officers. We had to get past them. Carrie was too weak to run," I wrinkled my nose at his words because they were true, "and there wasn't time to hide- she would have died. So I used my stele- put a _mendelin_ rune on the inside of her arm. I thought-"

Hodge's face contorted furiously. "Are you out of your _mind_?" He slammed his hand down on top of the desk so hard that it seemed like the wood might crack. I jumped in spite of myself.

"You know what the Law says about placing Marks on mundanes! You- you of all people ought to know better!"

"But it worked," insisted Jace. "Carrie, show them your arm." Without waiting for my response, he grabbed my wrist (as was becoming far too common) and held it out so everyone could see. I remembered the look of the strange tattoo, and how vulnerable my arm had seemed. Currently, just below the crease of my wrist, I saw three faint overlapping circles, the lines as dim as the memory of a scar that had faded with the passage of years. AK! I had a scar? My lovely flesh was obscured by something as ugly and permanent as a fizzing _scar?_ Now my wrists, if I held them side-by-side, wouldn't be symmetrical! It was bad enough having as many light brown moles as I did covering my face and arms and the rest of my skin, but now a _scar_, too? "See, it didn't hurt her at all."

"That's not the point." I saw Hodge barely controlling his anger. Or so it seemed… Something about his anger was rehearsed, put on, insincere. "You could have turned her into a Forsaken." What was that supposed to be? It didn't sound very nice.

Two bright spots of color burned high up on Alec's cheekbones. "I can't believe you, Jace. Only Shadowhunters can receive Covenant Marks- they _kill_ mundanes-"

"She's not a mundane. Haven't you been listening? It explains why she could see us. She must have Clave blood."

I yanked my wrist out of his grasp and crossed my arms, feeling suddenly cold in Isabelle's tank top. I seriously needed a sweatshirt. "You really sure about that? You think I'm part-Shadowhunter?"

I wasn't as surprised as a normal person would have been. This was my '_Yer a wizard, Harry,'_ moment. I was such a fan of fantasy; I'd been wanting something like this to happen for years. When I was eleven, I wanted to get my Hogwarts letter in the mail. When I read the _Percy Jackson and the Olympians_ books, I wanted to be claimed as a demigod. With every fantasy novel I'd read, I wanted it to happen to me. Anything to shake the normal drudgery of my life away. But... it was nonetheless strange for it to be happening in real life. I'd never expected it to happen _for real._

"You must be," Jace said, without looking at me for once. "If you didn't, that Mark I made on your arm..."

"That's enough, Jace," said Hodge, displeasure evident in his voice. "There's no need to frighten her further." Hodge turned his face away abruptly, but not before I could see his weird expression that betrayed his desire to end this conversation immediately. And, perhaps, that he knew more than he was putting out?

"I'm not scared at all," I said truthfully, excitement building. If I was part-Shadowhunter, what did that mean for me? "Go ahead, tell me."

Jace disregarded me, still arguing with Hodge. Hmm. Persistent, that Jace. "But I was right, wasn't I? It explains what happened to her mother, too. If she was a Shadowhunter in exile, she might have Downworld enemies."

"Jocelyn, a Shadowhunter?" I said, laughing once. The idea was ridiculous. Jocelyn in all black, fighting off demons, her Botox-ridden face trying to screw itself up in concentration, her boots laced with pink marabou instead of shoelaces, and her tiara glinting off the top of her head? That was hilarious.

"Your father, then. What about him?" Jace said.

I returned his gaze with a flat stare. "I wouldn't know, since my dead father is just that: dead. He died before I was born, apparently." If Jocelyn was to be believed about it, that is.  
>Hodge twitched, still not looking at any of us.<p>

Jace too flinched, but almost imperceptibly. It was Alec who spoke. "It's possible," he said uncertainly. "If her father was a Shadowhunter, and her mother a mundane- well, we all know it's against the Law to marry a mundie. Maybe they were in hiding."

"I don't know," I remarked as I thought about it. The lack of more than one picture of my dead father. The way Jocelyn never spoke of him. Secrets. Lies? Secrets _and_ lies, perhaps. "I suppose it could be true. But she _should_ have told me, if it was."

"We all have secrets," Jace said quietly, from behind me again. Ugh. Why did he keep creeping on me? He was going to invade my personal bubble if he came any closer.

"Luke," I said suddenly, hit with inspiration. "Jocelyn's non-boyfriend. He would know." With the thought of Luke came thoughts of my best friends, Maddie and Simon. Guilt. Horror. "It's been three days... Can I call him, and then my friends, just to tell them that I'm okay?" Simon was already a worrywart. I doubted that even Maddie could keep him sane for three days of Carrie=M.I.A. "Is there a phone?" I turned to Jace, pleading look in my wide eyes. The one expression that swayed the hearts of many, coupled with one word I was about to say. "Please."

Jace's face softened subtly, and he looked at Hodge, who nodded and moved aside from the desk. Behind him was a globe, made of beaten brass that didn't look quite like any other globes I'd seen; something strange about the shape of the continents and countries. Like extremely old maps from the Renaissance, when people were just starting to discover the layout of the world. Next to the globe was an old-fashioned black telephone with a silver rotary dial. I lifted it to my ear, and found that it worked. Thankfully.

Time to call Luke!

He picked up on the third ring. "_Hello_?"

"Wolverine!" I said, leaning against the desk on an elbow. "It's Carrie."

"_Carrie_." I could hear the relief in his voice, along with something else I couldn't quite identify.

"_You're all right?"_

"I'm just peachy," I said calmly. "Sorry I didn't call you before. I was kind of... occupied." That was a good way to describe how I was passed out for three days. "Luke, Jocelyn-"

"_I know. The police were here."_

"But have you heard from her at all?"

_"No, I haven't."_

Any vestigial hope that Jocelyn had fled the house and hidden somewhere, safe, disappeared. She would have contacted her Wolverine. "What did the police say?" I trusted the fuzz even less after the Demon-Police-Incident.

"_Just that she was missing._" I thought of the policewoman with her skeletal hand, and internally cringed at the memory. "_Where are you?"_

"With some... acquaintances," I said, considering a way to describe Jace, Raven, Alec, Hodge, and Isabelle. "In the middle of nowhere. Don't worry about me. Do you want me to take a cab to your house or something? You'd have to pay-"

"_No_," he said shortly.

"What?" The Wolverine was a cheapskate, but he wasn't _that_ much of a stickler that he'd refuse to pay for my cab-fare. "I'm not quite sure where my wallet is. Or the rest of my purse. Somewhere here, I think," I said, sending a glare at Jace. He'd better not have done anything weird to my purse.

"_No_," Luke repeated. "_It's too dangerous. You can't come here."_

"What do you mean it's too dangerous?" I yelled into the phone. "What's dangerous, and what aren't you telling me?"

"_Look_." His voice was hard. "_Whatever your mother's gotten herself mixed up in, it's nothing to do with me. You're better off where you are."_

What was going on? He never acted that way. "It _so_ has to do with you, Luke Garroway," I said through clenched teeth. I felt like throwing something. "What are you hiding? You can't fool me."

"_I'm _not_ your father, Carrie_," he said. I knew that. What did he take me for, stupid?

"I know that. I just thought you cared about my mother, is all. Like if she was in mortal danger, which I'm _pretty sure she is_, that you would _fizzing care!"_

He sighed. "_Don't call me for favors again."_ He added, "_I've got my own problems. I d-_"  
>But I cut him off by hanging up the phone. I didn't need to know unsavory excuses for 'people' like Luke.<p>

Jace was leaning against the armrest of Alec's chair, watching me. Why did Alec look uncomfortable at his proximity to Jace? "I take it he wasn't happy to hear from you?"

I glared at Jace, but composed myself to be calm again. "I still need to make another call. To my best friends, just to let them know I'm not dead. Yet."

I dialed their home phone and held the receiver up to my ear.

A breathless Simon picked up halfway through the second ring. "_Hello?_"

"Simon!" I said, relief crashing over me. "It's me, Carrie."

_"Carrie! You're alive! One second."_ I heard him put the phone down and yell, "_Maddie! It's Carrie_!"

"_Carrie? Thank God,_" said Maddie's voice.

"Uh, hi, it's me," I said cheerfully, bracing myself for Maddie's oncoming rant.

Surely enough, she screamed, "_Where the fuck are you, bitch? You fucking bitch! Where the fuck are you? You disappeared I don't know where, leaving us with hot chocolate that I _didn't want_, and it doesn't help that Simon's been having a fucking panic attack for three days-"_  
><em>"I have not,"<em> he said in a depressed way.

"_Yes, you have! Shut up, Bitch-Ass!"_

_"Don't call me that!"_

_"I can call you whatever I want. Shut up, Bitch-Ass! Now, explain yourself, bitch! Where have you been for the past three days?"_

"In a coma," I said simply, holding the receiver away from my face so that my ears wouldn't bleed from the noise.

"_WHAT?_" they both screamed.

There was a sound like they were fighting over the phone, occasionally punctuated by obscenities, and finally Simon's voice said, "_Give me that phone!_" There was a bit more scuffling, and he thundered into the phone, "_Where the fuck have you been?"_

"Wow, Simon, I didn't know you had that language," I said quite calmly.

"_Don't patronize me, woman! Where are you?_"

"Staying with some friends," I invented wildly.

"_What friends?_" I heard Maddie's voice say from the background. "_We're your only God-damn friends!"_

I sighed to myself. "New friends. Friends that you haven't met."

More wrestling. "_Give me that God-damn phone, Simone!"_

_"My name is _Simon_!"_

_"I don't care!"_ Maddie yelled at me, "_What friends? I need names, addresses, phone numbers, and social security numbers so I can run background checks on them_."

Jace and the others heard that, judging from the immensely loud noises that were coming from the receiver, as Jace sent me a scandalized look of horror. It said wordlessly, "These are your friends?"

"Unnecessary," I said patiently to Maddie. "I'm fine. Trust me."

"_You are not fine! You were in a fucking coma, bitch! Hold on one minute so I can put this on speaker phone so we can both yell at you at the same time." _She added,_ "You may as well put yourself on speaker phone so your _captives_ can hear us, too."_

"Whatever," I said. "They can already hear almost every word you're saying." I clicked my side on speakerphone.

"_Wait, there are people in the room with you?_" asked Simon, so I assumed it was on speakerphone. "_How many are there? What do they look like? What are their names? Give us their God-damn addresses already!"_

"No, guys. I'm okay. Really."

"_What do you mean, 'okay'? You were in a fucking coma!"_

_"We've fucking established that, Simon! Now Carrie, have they been feeding you? Have they been treating you roughly? Do you have any injuries?"_

_"Have they raped you yet?" _Simon interjected wildly.

Everyone else was looking, horrified, at the phone, while I face-palmed. "No, guys. I'm fine. I'm going to hang up if you keep acting like this."

_"No you are not!"_ they snapped.

Maddie said, "_We've been to your house and everything is gone- even Philip!"_

"That's because Philip's here with me," I said, trying not to laugh at how they were overreacting.

"_They've kidnapped your cat too?"_ Maddie asked incredulously.

"_What kind of sick bastards are they?_" added Simon.

At that, Jace chuckled. Maddie and Simon must have heard that, as they both yelled, "_Who the hell are you? Are you the one who kidnapped Carrie?"_

"Yes. He is, actually," I told them. "Maddie and Simon, meet Jace. Jace, meet Maddie and Simon."

"_Jace, is it? Well, Jace, we- mainly me- are going to hunt you down, cut off your testicles, and shove them down your throat. Then we're going to kill you in the most painful way possible and have our dogs eat you."_

"_We'll probably cut your heart out with a rusty spoon_," said Simon.

Jace gaped at the phone. "They can't be serious!"

"_We are serious, bitch! Now give us your name, address, and social security number because we doubt Jace is your real name. It sounds like a crappy soap opera name,_" the twins said in unison.

"I'm hanging up, now," I told them. "Don't worry about me."

"_Don't you dare, bi-_" But I cut them off by hanging up.

I looked at the others in the room. Jace still looked quite terrified, actually, Alec seemed like he was going to vomit, and Hodge appeared as if he was about to have a heart attack.

"Those are your _friends_?" asked Alec, as if he doubted it.

"Naturally," I said, putting the receiver back on its base. "Everyone should have friends like Maddie and Simon." Jace snorted. "What, blondie? You don't agree? Or are you just steamed that they got overprotective and threatened you?"

He didn't answer, but just stared at me. That made me _severely_ want a sweatshirt, or at least some decent clothes. I still felt indecent.

My call with the twins had gone reasonably well, almost better than I'd expected. Sure, they freaked out, but that only meant that they were honestly worried about me.

Hodge opened his mouth to speak, and said after a long pause, "I think I'd like to have a talk with Carrie." He added firmly, seeing Jace's expression, "Alone."

Alec stood up. "Fine. We'll leave you to it."

"That's hardly fair," Jace objected. He wanted to stay? Why? "I'm the one who found her. I'm the one who saved her life!" So _that_ was why. That was funny. "You want me here, don't you?" he appealed, turning to me, a crazed look in his eyes.

"Not exactly," I said, looking away quickly. I knew that if I said anything else or saw his expression for another second, I'd collapse in giggles. _Hysterical_ giggles. Hysterical giggles that made no sense and were completely irrelevant.

I heard Alec's laugh. He said, "Not everyone wants you all the time, Jace."

"Don't be ridiculous," said Jace, but he sounded disappointed. Good. "Fine, then. We'll be in the weapons room." He added as they walked through the door, "_You_ want me all the time, don't you Alec?" Then he laughed merrily, Alec chuckling uneasily.

The door closed behind them with a definitive click. My throat ached as it did when I repressed laughter for too long. Hodge loomed up in front of me, a fussing gray blur. "Sit down," he said.

"Here, on this couch."

I sank gratefully onto the soft cushions. My sides hurt, and I still felt the need to start giggling.

"Sorry," I choked. "I'm not usually like this."

"Most people don't cry when they're upset or frightened, but rather when they're frustrated. Your frustration is understandable. You've been through a most trying time." Hodge still seemed on-edge around me. Why?

"Crying?" I said, grinning wildly. "Who's crying? I'm trying not to laugh." Despite the circumstances. Despite the fact that Jocelyn was missing and the Wolverine claimed he didn't care and my best friends were having foul-mouthed panic attacks.

That statement seemed to disturb Hodge. He pulled the chair out from behind his desk, dragging it over so that he could sit facing me. His eyes, I saw, were blue, like mine (even though his were the color of the sky and mine were grayish), and there was guarded kindness behind the apprehension. "Is there anything I could get for you? Something to drink? Some tea?" Tea? Was he trying to drug me? Ha ha, Rutles reference.

"No thanks," I said. "Just give me a second, please." He waited patiently as I calmed down and the urge to laugh faded. I remembered Jocelyn, and how she was gone. "I want to find my mother. And then I want to find out who took her in the first place, and beat them to a pulp." I was fully capable of it. I'd sent innumerable boys to the hospital before, and that was just because they dared to try and kiss Carrie Fray. Someone who kidnapped my mother? I wouldn't hold back. At all.

"Unfortunately," said Hodge, "we're all out of bitter revenge at the moment, so it's either tea or nothing."

"Nothing, then," I said, humor completely gone. "What do you want me to do?"

"You could start by telling me a little about what happened," Hodge said, rummaging in his pocket. He produced a crisply folded handkerchief, and handed it to me. Handkerchief? He was one fancy person. "The demon you saw in your apartment- was that the first such creature you'd ever seen? You had no inkling such creatures existed before?"

"Well, there was Pandemonium," I said plainly. "When I first saw Jace and the others-"

"Right, of course, how foolish of me to forget. In Pandemonium. That was the first time?"  
>I nodded. "Yep."<p>

"And your mother never mentioned to you- nothing about another world, perhaps, that most people cannot see? Did she seem particularly interested in myths, fairy tales, legends of the fantastic-"

"No," I said shortly. "Except for her obsession with tiaras and boas and Disney princess. And her strange paintings."

"Paintings?" inquired Hodge.

"It's how she made money, even though she spent most of it on Botox and plastic surgery." I made a face. "But if she did have an interest in that, what does that have to do with anything? I _know_ Jocelyn. She'd never tell me if she _did_ have something to do with you people." As I said the words, I knew they were true. "And besides, she hated all that stuff. Seemed almost afraid of it, even. She hated Disney movies that weren't about princesses. The only exception to the princess thing was 'The Little Mermaid'. I never even saw it until I watched it secretly at Maddie and Simon's house with Simon. Jocelyn tried to stop me from my obsessions with fantasy books and Greek mythology. She doesn't even like me reading manga. She says it's all childish." I grimaced. "Although, how the religion of the Greeks could _possibly_ be considered childish is way beyond me." I thought of how I'd once come home from school and found Jocelyn trying to throw my mythology books into a To-Give-Away box. I'd been severely aggravated at that, and got a lock on my bedroom door with only one key (mine) so that it wouldn't happen again. Jocelyn was definitely strange.

Hodge scratched his head. His hair didn't move. Toupee? "Most peculiar." Heavily reminded me of Ollivander's '_Very curious_,' from HP and the Sorcerer's Stone.

"Jocelyn is practically the definition of peculiar," I said, sighing. "If you look 'peculiar' up in a dictionary, you'll see a picture of her overly Botox-injected face." I grimaced at the mental picture that came up.

Hodge said normally, "Do peculiar people generally find their homes ransacked by demons?"

"Perhaps," I said. "I doubt it was a mistake that the Ravener was there."

"If it _had_ been a mistake," Hodge said, "and you were an ordinary girl, you would not have seen the demon that attacked you- or if you had, your mind would have processed it as something else entirely: a vicious dog, even another human being. That you could see it... Did it speak to you?"

"Yes," I said. "It hissed. About how it wanted to eat me, savor my magnificent taste, et cetera. But I was under the impression that it wasn't supposed to eat me." Since it had flat-out said it.

"Raveners are generally under the control of a stronger demon. They're not very bright or capable on their own," explained Hodge. "Did it say what its master was looking for?"

I blinked. "I told you already, but it mentioned a Valentine character-"

Again, at the sound of the name, Hodge jerked and screamed. This time, it was so abrupt that Hugo, who had been resting comfortably on his shoulder, launched itself into the air with an irritable (and annoying) caw. "Yes. Valentine," he choked.

"Who is Valentine?" I said in a commanding tone, narrowing my eyes at Hodge so that he'd tell me the truth. It was a habit of mine, and one of my surefire ways to beat the truth out of someone. Talking down to those of lower intelligence or standing (or just someone I didn't like very much) coupled with an icy stare. Insinuating without words that something bad would happen if they lied to me.

He jumped at the gesture and murmured something along the lines of, "So like..." So like what?

He drew himself until he sat straight up. "It's a name we all know," he said shortly. I noted the slight tremble in his hands. Hugo, back on his shoulder, ruffled his feathers uneasily.

"Name of what?" I didn't breach my hostility or condescension, but I didn't intensify it either. I needed to be answered, and it wouldn't help if Hodge was too intimidated/scared to speak.

"Valentine is- _was_- a Shadowhunter."

Ah, the classic case of Member-of-Pack-Gone-Evil. Like Voldemort, or Darth Vader. Or Barnacle 'Man' from that one episode of SpongeBob. "Why do you say _was_?" I asked, still staring him down.

"Because he's dead," Hodge said quickly. "He's been dead for sixteen years."

Almost like my dead father. Weird.

Was it _also_ the classic case of Member-of-Pack-Gone-Evil-Mysteriously-Comes-Back-to-Life-Even-Though-People-Think-It's-Dead? "And it probably wasn't talking about someone with the same name, I assume."

Hodge's laugh was a humorless bark laced with fear. Why? "Correct. But it could have been someone using his name to send a message." He stood up and paced to his desk, hands locked behind his back. "And this would be the time to do it."

"Why?" I asked monotonously.

"Because of the Accords."

Why did the word sound vaguely familiar...? Oh, right. "Peace negotiations? Jace mentioned those. Peace with who?"

"Downworlders," Hodge muttered. He looked down at me, his mouth a tight line. "Forgive me. This must be confusing for you."

"Not really," I said nonchalantly, nonetheless projecting my Scary-Carrie Face. "Not when you explain whilst you speak." My unique way of talking was _phun_.

He leaned against the desk, not looking at me, stroking Hugo's feathers absently. "Downworlders are those who shared the Shadow World with us. We have always lived in an uneasy peace with them."

I drawled, picking at my nails uninterestedly, "Like vampires, werewolves, and-"

"The Fair Folk," he supplied. "Faeries. And Lilith's children, being half-demon, are warlocks." I wondered if wizards existed. Honestly, I wouldn't have been surprised at that point.

"So, what's the technical term for Shadowhunters?" Shadowhunter seemed like a slang term, almost.

"We are sometimes called the Nephilim. In the Bible, they were the offspring of humans and angels." Time for yet another believable yet far-fetched story. Oh, the joy. "The legend of the creation of Shadowhunters is that they were created nearly a thousand years ago, when humans were being overrun by demon invasions from other worlds. The Angel Raziel came down from heaven, mixed some of his own blood with the blood of men in a cup, and gave it to those men to drink."

"That's disgusting," I interrupted. "So you people descend from blood-drinkers? Gross."  
>Hodge gave me a stern look for cutting in, and continued, "Those who drank the Angel's blood became Shadowhunters, as did their children and their children's children. The cup thereafter was known as the Mortal Cup. Though the legend may not be fact, what is true is that through the years, when Shadowhunter ranks were depleted, it was always possible to create more Shadowhunters using the Cup."<p>

"_Was_ always possible? Elaborate, man," I ordered briskly.

"The Cup is gone," said Hodge, seemingly not annoyed at being talked down to. Like he was used to it. "Destroyed by Valentine, just before he died. He set a great fire and burned himself to death along with his family, his wife, and his child. Scorched the land black. No one will build there still. They say the land is cursed." His repetitive way of talking suddenly turned choppy at the mention of this Valentine guy. Strange.

"That's... harsh," I said, frowning, searching for the right words. "He burned his wife and child? That's awful." Inhumane. Unspeakable. "And is it true the land is cursed?"

"Possibly. The Clave hands down curses on occasion as punishment for breaking the Law. Valentine broke the greatest Law of all- he took up arms against his fellow Shadowhunters and slew them. He and his group, the Circle," Shadowhunting Death Eaters, I guess, "killed dozens of their brethren along with hundreds of Downworlders during the last Accords. They were only barely defeated."

I remained frowning. "Why did he turn on other Shadowhunters? Was he insane?"

"Insane, yes, but brilliant. He didn't approve of the Accords. He despised Downworlders and felt that they should be slaughtered, wholesale, to keep this world pure for human beings. Though the Downworlders are not demons, not invaders, he felt that they were demonic in nature, and that was enough. The Clave did not agree- they felt the assistance of Downworlders was necessary if we were ever to drive off demon-kind for good. And who could argue, really, that the Fair Folk do not belong in this world, when they have been here longer than we have?"

I noticed something. "You speak like you know him. Valentine."

Hodge raised his handkerchief to wipe his forehead. "I… do not see your logic."

I leaned forward in my seat, fixing the man with my cold gaze while a lazy-yet-demanding smirk spread across my face (Maddie had termed that expression "The Alexander Face" after Alexander the Great, one of my many idols and one of my possible past lives). "I think you do. What aren't you telling me?"

Hodge looked even more afraid than I'd ever seen him in our short acquaintance, which was actually saying something because this guy seemed to live in a constant state of fear.

"N-nothing," he stammered, eyes wide and fearful.

"Hodge," I said, drawing out the word lazily. He didn't answer, petrified, so I switched topics.

"Did the Accords get signed?"

He took a moment to recover his senses. "Yes, they were signed. When the Downworlders saw the Clave turn on Valentine and his Circle in their defense, they realized Shadowhunters were not their enemies. Ironically, with his insurrection Valentine made the Accords possible." He sat down in his chair again. "I apologize; this must be a dull history lesson for you."

"Not necessarily. History's one of my favorite subjects in school," I said, crossing my legs. History and English. And Latin.

"Anyway, that was Valentine. A firebrand, a visionary, a man of great personal charm and conviction. And a killer. Now someone is invoking his name..."

"But how does Jocelyn tie into this?" I pressed. "What does she have to do with this Valentine person?"

Hodge stood up again. Was he feeling nervous? Skittish? Did my questions make him that uncomfortable? Was he always that odd? "I don't know. But I shall do what I can to find out. I will send messages to the Clave and also to the Silent Brothers. They may wish to speak with you."

"Whatever," I said. I stood up. "And there's obviously no chance I could go home."

Hodge looked concerned. "No, I-I wouldn't think that would be wise."

"All my stuff is there, except my purse. I'm not sure what Jace did with it... Anyway, I need clothes. I'm not going to go around dressed like this forever," I said, gesturing at Isabelle's fugly clothes that I was wearing.

"We can give you money to purchase new clothes."

"Let me go," I said, re-administering my Alexander Face. Hodge jumped and screamed again. "I have to see what's left."

Hodge nodded wildly. "Fine. If Jace agrees to it, you may both go." I didn't understand why I needed a _bodyguard_. Hodge turned to the desk, rummaging among the papers. He glanced over his shoulder as if realizing I was still there. "He's in the weapons room."

"I know that. What I don't know is _how to get to the weapons room_."

Hodge smiled crookedly, his grin wavering. Honestly, how could he live if he was so terrified all the time? "Church will take you."

I glanced to the door, where the fat blue Persian rose, fur rippling like liquid as I came forward. My Philip was only a few feet away from the other cat, but sprinted up to me and pounced so that I was forced to catch him. With an imperious meow, Church led me into the hall. When I looked back over my shoulder, I saw Hodge already scribbling on a piece of paper.

That guy certainly wasted no time.

Sending a message to the 'Clave', apparently. From what I'd heard, they didn't seem like very nice people. How would they respond?

_The red ink looked like blood against the white paper. Frowning, Hodge Starkweather rolled the letter, carefully and meticulously into the shape of a tube, and whistled for Hugo. The bird, cawing softly, settled on his wrist. Hodge winced. Years ago, in the Uprising, he had sustained a wound to that shoulder, and even as light a weight as Hugo's- or the turn of a season, a change in temperature or humidity, too sudden a movement of his arm- awakened old twinges and the memories of pains better forgotten. _

_There were some memories, though, that never faded. Images burst like flashbulbs behind his lids when he closed his eyes. Blood and bodies, trampled earth, a white podium stained with red. The cries of the dying. The green and rolling fields of Idris and its endless blue sky, pierced by the towers of the Glass City. A tall, beautiful man with shining black eyes, smiling at him. The pain of loss surged up inside him like a wave; he tightened his fist, and Hugo, wings fluttering, pecked angrily at his fingers, drawing blood. Opening his hand, Hodge released the bird, who circled his head as he flew up to the skylight and then vanished._

_Shaking off his sense of foreboding, Hodge reached for another piece of paper, not noticing the scarlet drops that smeared the paper as he wrote._


	6. Chapter 6

**THE NEW AND MUCH IMPROVED EFFORT OF THIS CONCEPT (changing _City of Bones_ by Cassandra Clare for the better) IS FINALLY UP. FIND IT ON MY PROFILE AS SIMPLY _City of Bones_. I'VE WORKED LONG AND HARD ON IT AND I HOPE YOU'LL ALL ENJOY IT.**

****Love,  
>I Suffer From Hubris<strong>  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Six: Forsaken<strong>

The weapons room looked exactly the way something called 'the weapons room' sounded like it would look, and therefore was jaw-droppingly spectacular. Brushed metal walls were hung with every manner of sword, dagger, spike, pike, feather staff, bayonet, whip, mace, hook, and bow.

My eyes lingered on the javelins; I'd always wanted to try them since my throws were so accurate and deadly on their own. Soft leather bags filled with arrows dangled from hooks, and there were stacks of boots, leg guards, and gauntlets for wrists and arms. The place smelled of metal, leather, and steel polish. Alec, Raven, and Jace, no longer barefoot, sat at a long table in the center of the room, their heads bent over an object between them. Jace looked up as the door shut behind me. "Where's Hodge?" he asked.

"_Hodge scribit epistulas_," I said easily in Latin. Hodge is writing letters. Don't ask me why I slipped into the language of the Romans, because I'm not quite sure.

Raven said curiously, "You speak Latin?"

I nodded. "Yep. Years of it at school." I approached the table, conscious but uncaring about Alec's gaze. "What are you guys doing?"

"Putting the last touches on these." Jace moved aside so that I could see what lay on the table: three long slim wands of dully-glowing silver-colored metal. They didn't _look_ very threatening, or even all that sharp and dangerous. I guessed you could smack someone over the head with one, like a club or baseball bat, but that seemed hardly effective. In fact, they looked slightly like light-sabers before the blades were released... I gripped the edge of the table between Jace and

Raven and leaned slightly forward so that I'd be more comfortable. "Sanvi, Sansanvi, and Semangelaf. They're seraph blades."

I smirked, and raised an eyebrow. "You name your weapons?" And why make them so odd and foreign? And hard-to-pronounce? "And why do they sound like they could be straight out of Lord of the Rings? Naming them after something _magical_?"

Alec looked horrified, as if I'd just forced him to put on a tutu and execute a perfect pirouette.

Raven smacked his arm. "The funny thing about mundies," Jace said, to nobody in particular, "is how obsessed with magic they are for a bunch of people who don't even know what the word means."

"You're rambling incessantly," I said. "Just like with the demon in Pandemonium. You can't seem to keep your mouth shut on that big blonde head of yours." To aggravate him further, I messed up Jace's gold hair, kind of shocked at how soft his curls were. Wait, _what_? I _hated_ Jace. He was a pretentious moron who stalked my three-day coma and kept staring at me. Why would I notice that his hair was soft and fluffy, clinging to my fingers- NO! Jace was an idiot! No! No!

"Cut that out," he told me, although he didn't sound like he minded. What? The only reason I did it in the first place was to get a [bad] reaction so I could laugh cruelly about it. "Anyway, you mundanes always act like you know everything about magic when you don't."

"Untrue," I said.

"Oh? What's the main subject of those Harry Potter things you keep talking about?"

I searched for a loophole. "Love conquers all," I decided, smirking. Raven laughed, and nodded. Was she a fan, too? That would be nice.

"You know what I mean." He rolled his eyes at me.

"Do not," I said, shifting my weight to my other foot, playing dumb. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of being right. "Please, elaborate."

"_Magic_." Jace spoke the one word slowly, basically exhaling it. "And I bet you think you know what it means."

I considered that. "I know a few _interpretations_ of the meaning, but no sure definition. If _you're_ so smart, tell me."

"Magic is a dark and elemental force, not just a lot of sparkly wands and crystal balls and talking goldfish," he rattled off as if he'd recited it from a textbook. I mentally added 'insufferable know-it-all' to my ever-growing _Ways to Describe Jace_ list.

"What do talking goldfish have to do with anything? And sparkly wands are so lame, you-" -pretentious moron.

Jace waved a hand, cutting me off. I pursed my lips and wrinkled my nose as he said, "Just because you call an electric eel a rubber duck doesn't make it a rubber duck, does it? And God help the poor bastard who decides they want to take a bath with the ducky."

I snorted at the ridiculousness of that sentence. "Again about 'rambling incessantly'..."

"I am not," he said with great dignity.

"Yes, you are," Raven said rather unexpectedly, smiling.

Alec added, not looking at me deliberately- or, at least, so it seemed, "Look, we don't do magic, okay? That's all you need to know about it." Was he still steamed at how I threw a paperweight at him? Oh, poor wittle abused baby Alec. He needed to be on his guard around the Big Bad Monster Carrie. Boo-hoo.

"I never _said_ that you... _Shadowhunters_... used magic," I snapped. Alec already didn't seem to like me, but I decided that I may as well aggravate his hostility further. He was getting on my nerves, big time. I turned to Jace. "Hodge said I can check back at my house to see the rubble."

Jace nearly dropped the seraph blade he was holding. "_He said what_?"

I repeated, a little annoyed, "Hodge. Said. I. Can. Check. Back. At. My. House. To. See. The. Rubble." I tacked on, a little resentfully, "Under the condition that you go with me. Ugh."

"Jace," Alec breathed, but the blonde ignored him.

A thought struck me. "If you _really_ want to prove that one of my parents was a Shadowhunter, we can look through Jocelyn's things, if they're still there."

"Down the rabbit hole." Jace grinned crookedly, exposing a canine tooth that resembled a fang.

"Good idea. If we go right now, we should have another three, four hours of daylight."

"Have fun," Raven said. "I'll just be here, cooped up with Hodge, Isabelle, and Alec... Don't mind me..." I sent her a guilty, apologetic look since _I_ wouldn't have minded if she tagged along (she might stop Jace from creeping on me), but moved towards the door with Jace anyway.

Isabelle barred my way. "Did somebody say my name?"

"No!" Jace snapped. "Go away!" Isabelle did so.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Alec asked. I turned, and glanced back at him. He was half-out of his chair and looking at Jace expectantly.

"No." Jace didn't turn, as I did. "It's all right. Carrie and I can handle this on our own."

"Alone time with _you_?" I said. "Sounds simply marvelous." I shivered, suddenly cold, and an idea embedded itself in my mind. I looked at Raven. "Hey, do you have any clothes I could borrow? Isabelle's clothes don't suit me."

"Did somebody say my name?"

"GO AWAY."

"Sure," she said, standing up. "Come with me." Raven studied Jace, then Alec, then back to Jace. "We'll be right back. Try not to kill each other."

I followed her up to what must have been her bedroom and, after some digging around for clothes she'd outgrown, we went back to the weapons room. I was downright joyous at my shedding of Isabelle's clothes, and was now outfitted in a much-better ensemble composed of a really neat, zip-up hoodie worn over a dark blue tank top with jeans. Not quite skinny jeans, sigh, but this outfit was far more my speed. Especially when paired with my hi-tops. All I needed now was my purse... Grr...

"Alright, let's go," I said, stepping back into the weapons room with Raven. I said to her,

"Thanks for the clothes."

"No problem," Raven replied flippantly. "Now, you kids had better hurry up. You're losing daylight."

"Right you are," said Jace, joining me at the door. "Come on."

The look Alec shot Jace's back was as longing and more-than-slightly confused. I studied Alec curiously, but was glad when the door shut behind me.

When I got out the door, Jace was already halfway down the hall, and I was forced to half-jog to catch up to his long-legged stride. Curse his eagerness. "Have you got your house keys?"

"I _would_," I said, "except that _you_ hid my purse. And my keys are _in_ my purse."

"Oh yeah," Jace said contemplatively. "I almost forgot about that. Don't worry, I left it in the elevator."

"You left my _purse_ in the elevator?" He didn't answer me, the weirdo. "Anyway, my keys are in there."

"Good. Not that we couldn't break in, but we'd run a greater chance of disturbing any wards that might be up if we did." Was he showing off or something?

"If that's your story and you're sticking to it," I said patronizingly. The hall widened out into a marble-floored foyer, a black metal gate set into one wall. How... presumptuous. Unnecessary. It was only when Jace pushed a button next to the gate and it lit up that I realized it was an elevator. It creaked and groaned as it rose to meet us. "Jace?"

"Yeah?" It was rare that I addressed him by name, but this was an extenuating circumstance.

"How did you know I was part Shadowhunter? Was there, I don't know, any special way that you could tell...?" I asked curiously.

The elevator arrived with a final groan. Jace unlatched the gate and slid it open. The inside reminded me of a birdcage, all black metal and decorative bits of gilt. Except my lonely-looking purse that was on the floor in a corner. "I guessed," he said, latching the door behind us and then handing me my bag. "It seemed like the most likely explanation."

"You... guessed?" I asked, taking a deep breath to appear calm. "Pretty important guess, considering the fact that I could have _died_." The others put my life into the hands of _this_ idiot?

He pressed a button in the wall, and the elevator lurched into action with a vibrating groan that made the floor quake slightly. "I was ninety percent sure."

"Lovely," was all I said.

There must have been something in my voice, because Jace turned to look at me. I flew off the handle and snarled, my fist darting out and punching him in the gut with quite a bit of force, but not enough to put him in the hospital wing (Madame Pomfrey, giggle-snort). I'd gone easy on him. He doubled up, more in surprise than pain. "What the hell was that for?"

I cracked my knuckles and grinned, proud of my work. "The other ten percent, of course." He glared at me, and I rode the rest of the way down in extremely self-satisfied silence. Ah, handing idiots their comeuppance was fun.

Jace tried, unsuccessfully, to spend the train ride to Brooklyn wrapped in an angry little silence that made him seem like a brooding five-year-old who didn't get to eat a cookie before dinner and was upset. I sat unnecessarily close to him just to irk him even more, and I couldn't resist the burst of joy I got whenever Jace touched his stomach and groaned from 'pain' because of my punch. Gosh, I hadn't even hit him all that hard, the baby.

I didn't mind the silence, and took the time to think. What were Maddie and Simon up to while I was here, riding on a subway with a guy I'd just punched? Simon was probably stressing (as usual) and Maddie was probably trying to calm him down, also as usual. Well, if I _hadn't_ been unconscious, I would have called them sooner.

We were sitting approximately in the middle of the train, and farther down, on the other side of Jace, I saw several teenage girls giggling. The sort of girls I always hated at St. Xavier's, sporting designer purses, botched dye-jobs, and fake tans. I wondered vaguely if they were laughing at me, before I realized that they were looking at Jace.

I remembered that Clary-ginger-thing from the coffee shop who had been staring at Simon. Girls _always_ got a certain look on their face when they thought someone was cute, and those bimbos were definitely wearing that expression. From everything that had happened so far, it almost hadn't passed my mind that Jace wasn't all that bad-looking himself (we both seemed to be blessed with almost illegally good looks). He didn't have the whole delicate/feminine thing going on for him like Alec- I didn't like that very much, regardless- but Jace's face was more interesting. In daylight, his eyes were the color of golden syrup and were... looking right at me? What?

Jace jerked his chin to the other side of me. "Those guys down there are staring at you."  
>I repressed a disgusted look, and oh-so-subtly glanced over my shoulder. Surely enough, a group of six or so teenage boys was down there. They were all puffing out their chests and trying to look masculine, and were certainly staring unabashedly at me. None of them, literally, were handsome at all. "Story of my life." My gaze drifted to the girls on the other side, and I said,<p>

"Those girls over _there_ are staring at _you_."

Jace assumed an air of mellow gratification. "Of course they are," he said. "I am stunningly attractive."

"Keep telling yourself that," I told him, rolling my eyes and adjusting my very long hair, although I would have never, ever admitted to anyone that I [semi]agreed. The thought alarmed me, so I decided upon studying the nerds who were ogling me. One of them caught my eye and grinned, so I turned back to Jace. "Ugh. Teenage boys are obnoxious."

He glanced at his admirers, and then back to me. "Perhaps." He paused for a second, looking into my eyes, before smiling suddenly. "Don't move," he said quietly.

"Why?" I said, but my question was answered as I asked it. Jace slid his arm around my shoulders and relaxed a bit. As opposed to my stiffening, of course. "What do you think you're doing?" I demanded, as stiff as a statue.

"Making them stop," he said simply, still smirking. I felt like hitting him again. I assumed the 'them' he was talking about were the groups of teenagers.

"You forgot a possible outcome," I said, forcing myself to get over the initial shock and lean my head on Jace's shoulder. So far, his strategy _was_ effective, as the teenagers seemed to deduce that we were 'together' and gave up, the girls with shrieks of protests. "What if they fly over here in a jealous rage and become violent?" My voice was bored.

"I doubt that will happen," he replied. "And besides, I think we could take them."

"Whatever." I was almost painfully aware of his arm thrown casually across my shoulder, the hand that rested on a few locks of my hair, twirling one of the ringlets around his finger. "I still don't like you, you know," I pointed out. "This means nothing."

"Of course. I'm not trying to get you to like me." Did I detect a slight strain in his voice? Was Jace a bad liar?

"And I couldn't care less if you suddenly realized that you yearned for my love with a burning passion," I said. Time to make the idiot uncomfortable! "And besides... who could resist... this?"

I smiled blindingly up at him, the most beautiful way I could possibly contort my face.

He coughed, abruptly turning his head to the side, and my beam turned into a devilish smirk. "I can," he claimed airily.

"Sure you can," I said, laughing mischievously to myself. Ah, it was fun to use my powers for evil. "No one can resist the sublime beauty of Carrie Fray."

He didn't answer, and I remained smirking. This was turning out better than I'd expected.

The subway stopped and the doors opened, and who would have guessed it, but none other than that _Clary thing_ from Java Jones boarded. She glanced at Jace, licked her lips, and then opened her forest green eyes widely once she saw me. Aw, fabulous, she recognized me.

"Oh my Muhammad!" she chirped, standing in front of me. Was she Muslim? What a strange expletive! "I totally remember you from Java Jones!"

I blinked at her, feigning ignorance. "Who are you supposed to be, again?"

"Clary, remember?" the ginger nasally cheeped, tap-dancing in place. "You ran into me!"

"I have no idea who you are," I lied, not about to admit that I recognized her.

Jace glanced at me, confused. "Is this one of your friends?" he asked.

Clary squeaked, "Deff! We're BFFs!" Since when?!

"You don't even know my name," I said, not amused.

Clary set her crazed gaze on Jace, but her question was thrown at me. "Is this your _boyfriend?_"

Before I could protest, Jace said, "Yes," and pulled me closer. I squirmed around, but he didn't budge, regrettably.

The ginger stamped her foot, and yelled at me, "UGH! Why do you know all the hot guys?" Then she stormed off in an angry, redheaded, nasal huff.

"Let go of me," I said to Jace.

He yawned. "I dunno, I'm kind of comfortable, myself." His yawn turned into a lazy smirk directed at me. "Besides, we don't want all the other teenagers _staring_ at us, do we?"

I suddenly felt an uncomfortable, unexplainable fluttering sensation in my stomach brought on by his expression, but said, "Get off."

Thankfully, before either of us could say another word, our stop arrived and it was time to leave the subway behind us.

Once we got off the subway, I kept to a specific distance of a few paces away from Jace. No more funny business or I'd punch him again. But, for whatever reason, he seemed to be in a better mood than Wounded-Prince-Jace that he'd been when we'd gotten _on_ the subway. When we left the station and headed up the hill to my apartment, he took one of the seraph blades out of his pocket and started flipping it back and forth between his fingers and across his knuckles, humming to himself.

"Can you please stop?" I asked. "You're so infuriating." _Totally_ not attractive, oh no, not at all.

Jace hummed louder. It was a loud, tuneful sort of hum, somewhere between 'Happy Birthday' and 'The Battle Hymn of the Republic'. Gosh, he was a strange boy.

"I'm not sorry that I hit you," I said. "I'm actually quite proud of it, to be honest."

He stopped humming. "Just be glad you hit me and not Al- _oldest Lightwood child_. He would have hit you back."

"And I would have fought to my full potential. I was going easy on you."

"Oh, really?"

I grinned to myself. "Yep. Not only am I beautiful, but I'm also ruthless." Should I have pointed out that I'd sent boys to the hospital?

He cocked an eyebrow, looking at me. "Why do I find that hard to believe?" Probably because I looked like a porcelain doll, _sigh_.

"It would be in your best interest not to doubt me." I added, "Or try to force-kiss me. Then, I'd kill you." The thought of beating up a Jace who tried to kiss me made my smirk even wider.

Jace said quickly, "No chance of that happening. And bear in mind that Al- _oldest Lightwood boy_ would avenge my death with a vengeance."

I kicked an empty pop can out of my path. Yum, Dr. Pepper... I wanted Dr. Pepper. But _no_, I didn't _have_ any. Grr. "Your '_oldest Lightwood boy'_ seems to be itching for the chance to wound me," I said. It was harder to keep the Lightwoods away than you would expect. I half-wanted to bring Alec there to distract Jace. "What was it that he called the two of you? Para-something?"

"_Parabatai_," said Jace. "It means a pair of warriors who fight together- who are closer than brothers. Alec is more than just my best friend. My father and his father were _parabatai_ when they were young. His father is my godfather- that's why I live with them. They're my adopted family. See, we even have matching runes," he said, showing off an X-shaped rune on the side of his shoulder.

I looked away quickly. "What about Raven? How does she fit into the picture?"

He was about to answer, but we reached my house and I sprinted up to it, running up the path from the sidewalk and leaving Jace in the dust. I was excited, but equally nervous. What would I find inside? I stopped in front of the box hedges, half-expecting to see ruins and the whole thing cordoned off by caution tape.

But there were no signs of destruction. Bathed in pleasant afternoon light, the brownstone seemed to glow. Bees droned lazily around the rosebushes under Madame Dorothea's windows.

I froze on the spot as Jace caught up to me. "It looks... normal." Like nothing strange had happened at all.

"On the outside." Jace reached into his jeans pocket and drew out another one of the metal and plastic contraptions I'd mistaken for a cell phone.

"Sensor," I said, pointing to it. "What does it do?"

"It picks up frequencies, like a radio does, but these frequencies are demonic in origin."

"Know-it-all," I muttered. _I_ was a resident know-it-all and, as such, was annoyed at being informed by another.

"Much obliged, but you should understand that infinite knowledge comes at a price." Jace held the Sensor out in front of him as he approached the house. It clicked faintly as we climbed the stairs, then stopped. Jace's face twisted into a frown. "It's picking up trace activity, but that could just be left over from a few nights ago. I'm not getting anything strong enough for there to be demons present now."

"Good, I guess," I said. I dug in my purse for my keys, pulling them out. When I looked back up, I saw scratches on the front door. How had I missed them before? They looked like claw marks, long and parallel, raked deeply into the wood. I unlocked the door anyway.

Jace touched my arm until I swatted him away like the pesky mosquito he was. "I'll go in first," he said.

"I don't need to hide behind you like an invalid," I snapped. But, sadly, he'd already stepped in front of me and wasn't listening. Jerk-face.

He pushed the door open with one hand, beckoning me to follow him with the hand that held the Sensor. Once inside the entryway, I blinked, adjusting my eyes to the dimness. The overhead lights had yet to be replaced, the skylight was too filthy to let in any light, and the shadows lay thick against the chipped floor. Madame Dorothea's door was firmly shut. No light showed through the gap under it. Had she left her apartment for the first time in the billion years of her life?

Jace raised his hand and ran it along the banister. It came away wet, streaked with something that looked blackish red in the dim light. "Blood."

I made a sound of disgust. "Gross. Keep that away from me." I considered why it was there in the first place. "It's probably not mine, since it'd be dry by now."

"Exactly my thoughts. Come on."

He headed up the stairs, and I had no choice but to follow him. The landing was dark when I elbowed my way past Jace to get to the landing before him. I wondered briefly why there was no door, but remembered that I'd thrown it at Madame Dorothea accidentally. _Riiight_.

Jace pulled me back, his hands lingering, which irked me. "I'll go in first."

I hesitated, then stepped aside to let him pass. After all, he was the one with the _real_ weapons.

Although, I had recently found out that my purse could hold its own... Whatever.

It was cool inside the apartment, almost cold. Chilly air seeped from the entryway, and I was glad that Raven had loaned me a sweatshirt or I'd have been shivering.

It was empty. Startlingly, entirely empty, the way it had been when we'd first moved in- walls and floor bare (and painted over white?), furniture gone, even the curtains torn down from the windows. Only faintly darker squares of paint on the wall showed where Jocelyn's paintings had hung. In a dreamlike daze of sorts, I walked towards the kitchen, but not before exchanging a slightly frightened glance with Jace, whose face was grim in return.

The kitchen was just as empty, everything gone except the open, cream cabinets, the only remnants of Jocelyn's former decorative scheme. Where was all the marabou, the sparkles, the fluff, the girly stuff, the doilies, the Valentine's Day? And what happened to Jocelyn's tiara collection from near the door? She had splurged on a fancy display case reserved singly for her tiaras and boas; she'd have had a heart attack if she found it was missing.

"What happened in here?" I asked, brow furrowed, lips parted in concentration.

Jace shook his head, mouth curling down at the corners. "I don't know, but I'm not sensing any demonic presence right now. I'd say the demons are long gone." He sounded like one of the ghost hunters on Ghost Adventures.

"So you say," I said. "But no one can be right all the time, can they?" I, the impenetrable Carrie, was actually quite frightened. No _wonder_ Maddie and Simon had been freaked out when they stopped by. The place was its own ghost town. Maybe the Ghost Adventures crew had to come and check it out after all…

I glanced around one more time. Someone had even bothered to clean up the spilled, icky Tabasco sauce.

"Relax," Jace told me, so I glared at him. "That's better. Now, are you satisfied? There's nothing here."

I became defiant, one of my natural ways to deal with fear. "No. I'm _going_ to see my room." I used my no-nonsense voice.

He looked like he was about to say something but thought better of it. "If that's what it takes," Jace said, sliding the seraph blade back into his pocket.

The light in the hallway was out, but I didn't _need_ light to navigate my own house. With Jace right behind me, I found my door and reached for the knob. It was an icy, almost painful cold- like touching an icicle with a bare hand. Jace looked at me quickly, but I ignored him. I already had my bedroom door key in my hand, and unlocked it. I tried to turn the knob... It moved slowly, almost stickily, as if the other side was embedded in something glutinous and syrupy-

The door blew outward, knocking me off my feet. I skidded across the hallway floor and my back slammed into the wall, but I was okay. I was fine.

Jace, flat against the wall, was fumbling in his pocket, his face a mask of surprise. Looming over him like a giant of fairy tale fame was an enormous man, big around as an oak tree, a broad-bladed axe clutched in one gigantic, dead-white hand. Paler than me, which was saying something. Tattered filthy rags hung off his grimy skin, and his hair was a single matted tangle, thick with dirt. He stank of poisonous sweat and rotting flesh... I was glad I couldn't see his face.

Jace had the seraph blade in his hand now. He raised it, yelling, "Sansanvi!" It took me a moment to realize that's what he named it earlier.

A blade shot from the tube like a light-saber, startling me slightly. I'd never seen a blade like that before: clear as glass, with a glowing hilt, wickedly sharp and as long as Jace's forearm. A _white_ light-saber, I corrected myself. He struck out, lashing at the giant-thing, who staggered back with a bellow.

HP and the Sorcerer's Stone flashbacks... This guy reminded me of the mountain troll. _Wingardium leviosa_...

I was so caught up that I just barely noticed Jace racing towards me. He caught my arm, hauling me in front of him and pushing me down the hall. I didn't react normally because I heard the thing following us; footsteps like lead weights being dropped, coming all too quickly...

We sped through to the end of the hallway, Jace whipping around to slam the door behind us, latching the lock on the doorknob. The door shook on its hinges as a tremendous blow struck against it from the hallway. I backtracked towards the empty front doorway, Jace glancing at me with a manic excitement in his eyes. "Get downstairs! Get out of the-"

Another blow came, and this time the hinges gave way and the door exploded outward in a mess of splintering wood. It would have knocked Jace over if he hadn't moved (albeit too fast for a human, it seemed), unceremoniously shoving me out of the living room and onto the landing, and then was standing in front of the empty door-frame, the blade burning in his hand like it was on fire. He looked over his shoulder at me and shouted something- probably for me to run down the stairs and leave as fast as I could- but I couldn't even hear him over the roar of the giant-mountain-troll that burst from the shattered door, making straight for him. I stifled a scream as its axe flew, whipped through the air, sliced towards Jace's head. He ducked and the axe landed in the wall, biting deeply.

Jace laughed, enraging the giant-mountain-troll-thing. It lurched at Jace with his enormous fists raised. I felt the need to do something- anything! So, I grabbed a book out of my purse (_Ouran High School Host Club_: Volume 7, sigh) and, as always happened when I threw things, whipped it at the creature without even thinking about it. The book struck its throat, which gave Jace just enough time to bring his seraph blade around in an arcing sweep, burying it to the hilt in the giant's shoulder. I stood on the landing, watching the giant sway on the spot and then fall forward, his hands outstretched and grasping. Jace stepped aside hastily, but not hastily enough: the enormous fists caught hold of him as the mountain-troll-thing staggered and fell, dragging the blonde in his wake. I heard Jace's one shout, then a series of heavy and cracking thumps, and finally silence.

I dropped my purse and ran forward at once. Jace lay sprawled on the floor, his arm bent beneath him at an unnatural angle. Across his legs lay the giant, the hilt of Jace's seraph blade protruding from its shoulder. I could easily see its face now- too white and papery, latticed with a black network of horrible scars that obscured its features. Its eye sockets were red, suppurating pits oozing pus. Fighting the urge to vomit, I stepped over the twitching giant-mountain-troll and knelt next to Jace.

He was so still... I laid a careful hand on his shoulder like he was sleeping and I was waking him up, and felt that his shirt was sticky with blood... Jace's or the giant's, I couldn't tell... "Jace?"

His eyelids fluttered open. "Is it dead?"

"Almost," I said, my hair a blondish-brown curtain that shielded me from view of the thing. I didn't want to throw up all over everything, so it was only natural. "It's almost dead."

"Hell." He winced. "My legs-"

I sighed. "Okay, I'll try to pull you out." If I _could_, that is. It was the least I owed the guy- he'd just risked his life to protect me. Pretentious moron, still. A _recklessly_ pretentious moron.

I stood up and walked over to near his head, slipping my hands under his arms and pulling as hard as I could. He grunted with pain as his legs slipped out from under the creature's convulsing carcass. Wow, accidental alliteration.

I let go of Jace once he was free, and he struggled to his feet, holding his left arm across his chest. I recalled dimly that Jace was left-handed. I asked hesitantly, my nose wrinkled, "You okay?"

"No. Arm broken. Can you reach into my pocket?" he said.

Gosh. He got _commanding_ when injured. If I never saw Injured-Jace again, it would be too soon.

Even so, I said flatly, "Which one?"

"Inside jacket, right side. Take out one of the seraph blades and hand it to me." I just stood there, raising an eyebrow at him. "What?"

"I don't like being ordered around. It wouldn't kill you to say please."

"Fine! _Please!_" His tone was aggravated. Good.

"That's better," I muttered, slipping my hand into his open jacket, then the pocket, trying not to blush. This close proximity wasn't working for me, but whatever. He'd better not have been getting blood on me. Even so, his breath rustled my wavy hair as my fingers closed on a tube. I drew it out and handed it to Jace, not looking at him. "Here's your sword, Your Majesty."

"Thanks," he said. I heard him name it: "Sanvi." My eyes darted back to Jace of their own accord. Like its predecessor, the tube grew into a wicked-looking sword, its glow illuminating his face. "Don't watch," he cautioned, going to stand over the scarred giant-mountain-troll-thing's still shuddering body.

I ignored his advice, and watched anyway as he raised the blade over his head and brought it down. Blood spurted like a fountain from its throat, spattering Jace's boots.

The air became full of the smell of blood: heavy and metallic. Jace made a sound low in his throat. He was white-faced, whether with pain or disgust I couldn't tell. "I told you not to watch," he said, as if disappointed.

"You can't tell me what to do," I said, but not resentfully. I was merely stating a fact. "No one can. Not you, not Jocelyn, not my dead father. No one." But I could still order people around just fine, obviously.

He said nothing, and shrugged his jacket off his shoulder, bearing the upper part of his left arm.

With his right hand, he brought something out of his belt. It was the smooth wand-shaped object he'd used to give me the Tattoo of Death that I'd miraculously survived. Looking at the thing made me remember my new, ugly scar. Jace would never be able to live that down, scarring me.

Even if it _was_ to save my life, which he seemed to be doing a lot of lately.

Jace saw me staring and grinned the ghost of a grin. "This," he said, "is a stele." He touched it to an inked mark just below his shoulder, a curious shape almost like a star. Two unconnected arms of the star jutted out from the rest of the mark. "And this is what happens when Shadowhunters are wounded."

With the tip of the stele, he traced a line connecting the two arms of the star. When he lowered his hand, the mark was shining like it was made with glow-in-the-dark ink. As I watched in rapt fascination, it sank into his skin. It left behind a pale, thin, almost invisible scar.

An image rose into my mind. Jocelyn's back, not quite covered by her bathing suit top. The blades of her shoulders and curves of her spine dappled with narrow, white marks. It was like something I'd seen in a dream- Jocelyn's back had never looked like that, not from what I could remember. But at the same time, I couldn't get it out of my head.

Jace let out a heavy sigh, the tense look of pain leaving his face. He moved the arm, slowly at first, then more easily, lifting it up and down, clenching his fist. It clearly wasn't broken anymore.

I nodded approval, and said with a hearty dose of sarcasm, "Very impressive, Shadowhunter," even though it _was_ impressive.

"That was an _iratze_- a healing rune. Finishing it with the stele activates it." Good to know. He shoved the slim wand back into his belt and put his jacket back on. With the toe of his boot, he prodded the giant-thing's corpse. "We're going to have to report this to Hodge. He'll freak out." Jace finished the sentence with a grin, as though the thought of trouble delighted him. Maybe it did. Jace seemed like the sort of person who liked it when things were _happening_, even if they were bad.

"Hm. And that... thing... isn't a demon, is it? It would explain why the Sensor didn't pick it up."  
>Jace nodded. "You're learning quickly. You see the scars all over its face?"<p>

"Of _course_. I'm not blind."

"Those were made with a stele. Like this one." He tapped the wand in his belt. "You asked me what happens when you carve Marks onto someone who doesn't have Shadowhunter blood. Just one Mark will only burn you, but a lot of Marks, powerful ones? Carved into the flesh of a totally ordinary human being with no trace of Shadowhunter ancestry? You get this." He jerked his chin at the dead body. "The runes are agonizingly painful. The Marked ones go insane- the pain drives them out of their minds. They become fierce, mindless killers. They don't sleep or eat unless you make them, and they die, usually quickly. Runes have great power and can be used to do great good, but they can be used for evil. The Forsaken are evil."

I opened my mouth, in slight horror. And it took a lot to floor me. "Who would do that to anyone?"

"A warlock, maybe, some Downworlder gone bad. The Forsaken are loyal to the one who Marked them, and they're fierce killers. They obey simple commands, too. It's like having a-a slave army." Jace stepped over the dead Forsaken, and glanced over his shoulder at me. "I'm going back upstairs."

"No, you're not," I snapped. "What do you expect me to do, wait patiently while you go and act like the hero?" Like America, from Hetalia.

"There might be more of them," he said, as if he were almost anticipating that. "You should wait here. Or better yet, at the bottom of the stairs."

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," said a shrill and familiar voice. "There are more of them where the first one came from."

We both spun around, although I knew who it was. The gravelly accent was unmistakable.

"Madame Dorothea? Why are you here?" Why did she _care_? I'd thrown a door at her the last I'd seen the woman. I thought that was a non-subtle way of saying, '_Stay out of my life, old lady.'_

The old woman inclined her head ceremoniously. She stood at the foot of the stairs, dressed in what looked like a tent made of purple silk. Gold chains glittered on her wrists and looped her throat. Her long badger-striped hair straggled from the bun pinned on top of her head.

Jace was still staring. "But..."

"More _what_, woman?" I said. I really found it hard to hide my intense dislike of Madame Overkill.

"More Forsaken," she replied cheerfully. Her tone didn't match the circumstances. At all. She walked up the stairs and glanced around the landing. "You have made a mess, haven't you? I'm sure you weren't planning on cleaning up, either. Typical."

"But you're a _mundane_," Jace said, finally finishing his sentence.

"So observant," said Overkill, her eyes gleaming. "The Clave really broke the mold with you."

The bewilderment on Jace's face replaced itself with a dawning anger. He demanded, "You know about the Clave? You knew about them, and you knew there were Forsaken in this house, and you didn't notify them? Just the existence of Forsaken is a crime against the Covenant-"

"Neither Clave nor Covenant have ever done anything for me," said Madame Overkill, her eyes flashing angrily. What was wrong with her? "I owe them nothing."

I found my voice, shock at her arrival fading. "So, let me get this straight," I said. "You know about the Clave and the Forsaken. What about my mother? Do you know anything about what happened to Jocelyn?" I narrowed my eyes.

Overkill shook her head, her earrings swinging. Her face was full of... pity? "My advice to you is to forget about your mother. She's gone."

"She _can't_ be dead," I said, not believing my ears. "She's alive, and you know it. You're just not telling me. Well, here's a piece of advice for _you_. Tell me the truth."

Madame Overkill became shift-eyed, and said reluctantly, "You're right. I'm sure she's still alive. For now."

"Then help me find her!" I was filled with a strange excitement at the thought of hunting down Jocelyn. Then I noticed Jace's arm around me, as if bracing me against himself. Ugh. What about '_I still don't like you, you know_' didn't he understand?

The old 'Seeress and Prophetess' held up a hand. "I don't want to involve myself in Shadowhunter business."

"Look," I said to her, ducking out of Jace's grasp only to have it replaced immediately (grr), "I know you don't like me very much, which is fine. I don't like you, either, to tell you the truth. But this is about Jocelyn. You guys were _neighbors_. Don't you care at all?"

Jace added, "This is an official Clave investigation. I can always come back with the Silent Brothers."

"Oh, for the love of all that is holy-" Overkill glanced down the stairs to her door, and then at Jace and me. "I suppose you might as well come in. I'll tell you what I can." We followed her down the stairs, but she stopped just outside her door, glaring at Jace. "But if you tell anyone I helped you, Shadowhunter, you'll wake up with snakes for hair and an extra set of arms."

"That might be nice, an extra pair of arms," said Jace. "Handy in a fight." Was that a pun, 'handy'? Not funny.

"Not if they're growing out of your..." Overkill paused and smiled at him maliciously. "Neck."

Jace feigned fear. "Yikes."

"Yikes is right, Jace Wayland." Overkill marched into her apartment, her purple tent flying around her like a gaudy flag.

I looked at Jace, ignoring the arm around my shoulders. "Jace Wayland?" Kewl name, I guess, but kind of silly.

"It's my name." He looked shaken. "I can't say I like it that she knows it."

I glanced after the woman. The lights were on inside the apartment; the heavy, muggy scent of incense flooding the entryway, mixing unpleasantly with the stench of blood. "We may as well go," I said reluctantly. "She may know something." I grinned briefly, knowing that I was almost certainly jinxing our chances of escaping without anything catastrophic happening. "What have we got to lose?"

"Once you've spent a bit more time in our world," Jace said, "you won't ask me that again."


	7. Chapter 7

**THE NEW AND MUCH IMPROVED EFFORT OF THIS CONCEPT (changing _City of Bones_ by Cassandra Clare for the better) IS FINALLY UP. FIND IT ON MY PROFILE AS SIMPLY _City of Bones_. I'VE WORKED LONG AND HARD ON IT AND I HOPE YOU'LL ALL ENJOY IT.**

****Love,  
>I Suffer From Hubris<strong>  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Seven: The Five-Dimensional Door<strong>

Madame Overkill's apartment seemed to have roughly the same layout as mine, but she'd definitely made different use of the space. I didn't know which was worse- her decor or Jocelyn's. Both were terrible, and that's putting it kindly.

The entryway, reeking of heavy incense that made me cough, was hung with bead curtains and astrological posters (huzzah for the sea-goat Capricorn). One showed the constellations of the zodiac, another a guide to Chinese magical symbols, and another showed a hand with fingers spread, each line on the palm carefully labeled. Above the hand, fancy-schmancy script spelled out the words '_In Manibus Fortuna'_. Fortune in the hands? That made little to no sense, like everything else associated with Madame Overkill. Narrow shelves holding stacked books ran along the wall beside the door. What type of books did the crazy lady keep?

Before I could investigate further, one of the bead curtains rattled and Madame Overkill poked her head through. "Interested in chiromancy?" she questioned, noting my curiosity. "Or just nosy?"

"Neither, Madame Overkill," I sighed. I was already sick of dealing with the woman. "And I know that you can't tell fortunes. It's impossible." Why did I feel like Hermione assaulting Professor Trelawney from HP and the Prisoner of Azkaban? Hmm. Maybe because Divination _wasn't real_ and Overkill was a phony. Whatever.

"You say that, but my father had a great talent. He could see a man's future in his hands or the leaves at the bottom of his teacup."

"I doubt that." Ugh, the elderly were so... boring.

Overkill continued as if I hadn't spoken. "He taught me some of his tricks." She transferred her gaze to Jace. "Speaking of tea, young man, would you like some?"

"What?" Jace said, surprised she'd spoken to him.

"Tea. I find it both settles the stomach and concentrates the mind. Wonderful drink, tea." Heh heh, tea. Rutles humor.

I realized just how thirsty I was, right at that moment. "I'll have some, if you promise not to do anything disgusting to it," I said. And besides, I was not only parched but also starving and tired. Maybe the caffeine would wake me up.

Jace succumbed. "All right. As long as it isn't Earl Grey," he said, wrinkling his fine-boned nose. "I hate bergamot."

That made me remember _my_ revulsion to the stuff. "Yeah, Overkill, no Earl Grey. It's gross." I hated the stuff almost as much as I hated Madame Overkill. My loath for all things Earl Grey stemmed from Jocelyn practically force-feeding it to me from a young age when I didn't like it at all. It tasted too... musky? Yeah, musky. I shuddered internally at the awful memories of Jocelyn shoving it down my throat for no reason.

Madame Overkill bizarrely cackled and disappeared back through the bead curtain, it swinging behind her. Very psychedelic. She must have had a _field day_ in the 1960s.

I studied Jace as I retied one the laces from my right hi-top, using a chair for support. "You hate bergamot too?"

Jace had wandered over to the narrow bookshelf and was examining its contents. "You have a problem with that?"

"No, not really. It's just that..." Searching for how to word my next part without seeming like a moron... Ugh... "I don't know many boys my age who know what bergamot is, much less that it's in Earl Grey tea." I'd tried to discuss it with Simon once, but he had no idea what I was talking about.

"Yes, well," said Jace with a supercilious look, "I'm not like other guys. Besides, at the Institute, we have to take classes in basic medicinal uses for plants. Hodge forces us to." Like _Herbology?_ He took a book off the shelf.

"Oh, really? I assumed all your classes were things like... _Slaughtering Demons 101_ and... _Beheading for Beginners_ and... _How to Be an Obnoxiously Pretentious Moron_."

He flipped a page. "Very funny, little mundie girl."

I raised an eyebrow. "Haven't we gone over this before, self-obsessed blondie?"

Jace glanced up, falsely surprised. "You're under the impression that I'm self-obsessed?"

"Indubitably. It's completely obvious." I rolled my eyes at the fact that I had to say it out loud.

"I'm only as self-obsessed as you are," he retorted with a slight smirk.

"I am not-" Actually, I was. Mildly. Whatever. I switched gears. "You know, this means war."

The last person I'd declared war on was Simon, and Maddie had backed him up. And it was with a snowball fight, anyway, when I was eight. Simon and Maddie, waiting anxiously for me to call them for three days while I was in a coma...

"I'll take that as a challenge?" Jace said, still grinning at me.

"You'd better watch your back, there, Jethro. My friends weren't kidding when they threatened you." I smiled at the idea of Maddie and Simon hunting Jace down and fulfilling their threats.

"I see." He put the book back on the shelf, and joined me near the palmistry poster. "This must be the trash she keeps up to impress credible mundanes. There's not one serious thing here."

I disliked how close he was standing, and flipped my hair over a shoulder, effectively whipping him. Ha. Maybe _that_ would diffuse the idiot. "Hmm. Interesting."

Jace took out a seraph blade and was playing with it, tossing it from hand to hand distractingly. "Very interesting."

Like a cat, I was suddenly transfixed with the seraph blade until I couldn't take it anymore and snatched it out of the air, laughing and turning my back to Jace. "That wasn't hard at all."

His arm reached out to my left, trying to grab it from me. "Give it back."

"No," I said, delighted with my new trophy. "You weren't paying attention, and now I have your fancy, magical weapon." I'd meant it when I declared war. When was this Shadowhunter going to start taking me seriously?

"_I do not do magic_," he corrected. "I use tools that are magical. And just to be able to do that, I have to undergo rigorous training. The rune tattoos on my skin protect me, too. If you tried to use that, for instance, it'd probably seriously burn your skin."

"Really." I twirled it around in my fingers, just to aggravate Jace even more. "So, if I got fancy Marks like yours I'd be able to use this?"

"No," he said crossly. "The Marks are only part of it. There are tests, ordeals, levels of training- even though some Shadowhunters take to it naturally. You still don't have any training. You'd probably injure yourself, even. Just give that back, alright? I kind of _need that for later_."

I turned around, not judging how close Jace was standing to me. _Eurgh_. I took a step back immediately, still holding onto his seraph blade. "It's mine now. And there goes my plan for selling this on eBay."

"Selling it on _what_?" Wow, he didn't even know what _eBay_ was?

I smirked. "You know, for someone who's always telling me how ignorant _I_ supposedly am, you're pretty oblivious yourself."

"I'm serious. Where were you threatening to sell my seraph blade?"

"A mythical place of great magical power," I said innocently, widening my eyes.

Jace looked confused for a few seconds, then shrugged. "Most myths are true, at least in part."

I grew excited. "Really? Even all the tales of Greek gods and heroes?" It would be really neat if they were partly true. Especially the Trojan War, which was 'fascinating' defined. But not that movie-version, 'Troy'. That movie somehow made one of the most interesting stories in history _boring_. How could they mess up that badly- to make a movie with constant battle sequences _boring_? And, as Maddie would say, _How could they make a movie with Brad Pitt and Orlando Bloom half-naked boring?_

"I'll tell you if you give my seraph blade back," Jace smiled, holding his hand out expectantly.

"Dream on, Nephilim," I said, putting it safely in my purse.

"You keep stealing my stuff," he complained obviously.

"So? Maybe you shouldn't make them so easy to take," I pointed out.

"What are you even planning on doing with it? I just explained to you how you'll probably hurt yourself if you try using it." How dare he put such little stock in my possibly weapon handling abilities!

Huh. What _was_ I going to do with the seraph blade?

I crossed my arms, still smirking. "This can be my _official_ souvenir. A memento of this wonderful little excursion. I'll make a decorative sign and caption it, 'From when I had an outing with a pretentious, blonde Shadowhunter and had to be reduced to petty larceny to get him to stop creeping on me.' Ah, I can see it now."

He was about to comment, probably on how ridiculous my idea was, but Madame Overkill's head appeared through the bead curtain, effectively drawing our conversation to a close. "Tea's on the table," she shrilled. "There's no need for you two to keep standing there like donkeys. Come into the parlor."

"What parlor?" I asked blankly. Then again... Overkill seemed to be the type to possess a 'parlor'.

"_My_ parlor," she said. "Where else would I entertain?"

"I'll just leave my hat with the footman," said Jace. I snorted, but it was refreshing to have someone besides myself mouth off to Madame Overkill.

Said Overkill sent him a dark look. "If you were half as funny as you thought you were, my boy, you'd be twice as funny as you are." She went through the bead curtains and disappeared again, her loud "Humph!" not entirely drowned out by the rattling beads.

Jace frowned. "I'm not quite sure what she meant by that."

I shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. Madame Overkill is incomprehensible at best."

Before he could reply or do anything strange like he had been all day, I sped up and walked through the bead curtain without him.

The parlor was ridiculously- and _impractically_, may I add- dim, just like Jocelyn's décor, completely lit by dusty, bronze candelabras. Who put black velvet curtains all across one wall and painted the other three a dirty shade of mauve? Who hung stuffed birds and bats from the ceiling; what was she, a taxidermist in her free time? Who layered the floor with frayed Persian rugs that emitted clouds of dust whenever someone treaded upon them? Who grouped fluffy, Umbridge-esque pink armchairs around a low table?

I'll _tell_ you who. Madame 'Overkill' Dorothea, alleged Seeress and Prophetess, that's who. Or rather, 'what'. Would it be cruel of me to refer to Madame Overkill as an it?

A stack of tarot cards bound with silk ribbon occupied one end of the table, a crystal ball with a gold stand on the other. In the middle of the table was a blue porcelain tea set, laid out for company: a neat plate of stacked sandwiches, the teapot unfurling a thin stream of white smoke, and two cups on matching saucers set carefully in front of two of the armchairs. It seemed like a disaster waiting to happen.

"Wow," I said unenthusiastically. "This looks _marvelous_." I sat down in one of the overstuffed armchairs, my tired feet thanking me. It felt delicious to sit down, even if it _was_ with a crazy lady and a blonde oddity.

Overkill smiled, her eyes glinting with a sly humor. "Have some tea," she said, hefting the pot. "Milk? Sugar?" Was she _trying_ to make me high like in the Rutles movie? Didn't she know that tea was dangerous?

I didn't even _like_ tea in the first place. "Neither." I looked sideways at Jace, who was sitting next to me and who had taken possession of the sandwich plate. He was examining it closely. Yes, certainly a blonde oddity.

He shrugged, took a sandwich, and set the plate down. Did Overkill honestly expect us to eat _all those sandwiches_? There must have been at least thirty-five on the plate, not counting the one Jace was eating. I, having nothing better to do, scrutinized the pretentious oddity as he bit into it, and wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Cucumber," he said, in response to my candid, emotionless stare. Was I making him uncomfortable, just as he made me uncomfortable whenever I caught him staring at _me_?

"I always think cucumber sandwiches are just the thing for tea, don't you?" Madame Overkill inquired of no one in particular. She had the oh-so-charming habit of speaking when no one _wanted_ her to, just like Isabelle. It was one of the reasons I disliked Overkill so much.

The fact that she was serving cucumber sandwiches reminded me of Oscar Wilde (the Great)'s play _The Importance of Being Earnest_, one of my favorite stage productions ever. If Overkill had been serving them as homage to him, that would have earned her some awesome points in my book, but I suspected she was too wrapped up in her old-aged insanity to even know whom he was.

"I hate cucumber," Jace said, and handed the rest of his sandwich to me.

I shrank away from it. "Gross. Keep that away from me."

"Why?" he drawled, a smirk playing at his lips. "It's an indirect kiss from me."

"Exactly my point," I said dramatically, flourishing an arm at him. "I don't want, nor do I need, Jace germs inside my system, thank you." If Maddie were there, she would have started giggling madly at the awkwardness of that sentence. "And besides, what gave you the idea that I wanted an indirect kiss from you in the first place?" I added quickly, "Because I don't." To hide my light blush, I reached for a different cucumber sandwich (no indirect Jace kisses for me) and bit into it. It tasted like mayonnaise, and something that immediately irritated my nose. I gagged. "Pepper."

"But of course," said Overkill. "Cucumber sandwiches require pepper. Do you not like it, dear?"

I resented being called 'dear' by _anyone_, especially Madame Overkill. "I _loathe_ pepper, _dear_. It's horrible." I could barely even stand the stuff in small amounts. And here, the inside of the sandwich was probably _smothered_ in it. My hunger dissipated immediately, but I swallowed it anyway, putting the rest of the sandwich down like it was a particularly nasty-looking piece of road kill (AKA something hanging from her ceiling). Then I proceeded to gulp tea to flush out the awful taste.

"So, pepper," said Jace. "Is there anything else you hate that I ought to know about?"

I mocked him, and wrinkled my nose with an exaggerated movement. "Seafood, vegetables in general, and pretentious morons." I took another sip of tea. "And _you_ dislike cucumber and bergamot. _Is there anything else you hate that I ought to know about_?" I said in a high, whiny, nasally voice that actually ended up sounding like the voice of that Clary-thing. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I greatly enjoyed annoying Jace.

Jace looked at Overkill over the rim of his teacup. "Liars," he said.

I grinned into my tea, "Then you obviously hate me."

He said contemplatively, "Not _necessarily_-"

But Overkill cut him off, setting her teapot down. "You can call me a liar all you like. It's true, I'm not a witch. But my father was of magical descent, a warlock, to be exact."

Jace choked on his tea. "That's impossible."

"How so?" I wondered. I became aware of the taste of the tea, now that the scalding sensation on my tongue had disappeared. It was bitter, strongly flavored with a peaty smokiness. Ugh. I spooned lots of sugar into it, and took another hesitant sip. Too sweet. Whatever.

Jace expelled a breath. "Because they're half-human, half-demon. All witches and warlocks are crossbreeds. And because they're crossbreeds, they're sterile. They can't have children."

"I _know_ what sterile means, Wayland," I snapped. Then I abruptly changed my tone to a nicer, more pleasant one because I wasn't in a particularly spiteful mood. "So, you're basically saying that witches and warlocks are sterile crossbreeds, like mules, for instance?" Or ligers. Ligers were kewl. I recalled a documentary about crossbreeds I'd seen on the _National Geographic_ channel once. Too bad they hadn't mentioned witches and warlocks, eh?

"Your knowledge of livestock is astounding," said Jace, standing up and beginning to wander around the room. Restless one, wasn't he? "All Downworlders are in some part demon, but only warlocks are the children of demon parents. It's why their powers are the strongest."

"But vampires and werewolves aren't born, are they?" I asked, numerous monster movies coming to mind. "Aren't they, well, _contaminated_?"

He resumed his textbook-recitation. "Vampires and werewolves are the result of diseases brought by demons from their home dimensions. Most demon diseases are deadly to humans, but in these cases they worked strange changes on the infected, without actually killing them."

"Someday, blondie," I said, "ask me to explain to you everything there is to know about the Ways of the Mundane. Then _you_ can be the oblivious one."

The corner of Jace's mouth quirked up into a grin, and his right eyelid dropped into a wink. "I may have to take you up on that offer." As I gaped, he started batting at one of the stuffed birds hanging from the ceiling that appeared to be a raven with glossy black eyes, reminding me of Hugo. "Wow," he said. "You don't see many of these around these days, do you?"

"Stop quoting George Harrison and sit down," I said, annoyed. He was so strange!

He hit the bird, and it began soaring around in a circle. "Look, it's flying!"

Madame Overkill did _not_ look amused at the treatment of her taxidermied pet. Was 'taxidermied' even a word? Hmm. "Put that down, young man, and sit over here before something unfortunate happens to that pretty, blonde head of yours."

Jace said, "What are you going to do, taxidermy _me_?"

"I might," she threatened.

"Of course you would. Who _wouldn't_ want a stuffed version of me hanging from their ceiling?"

"Jace," I said in exasperation. "Just sit down in the chair."

"But it's threatening my manliness." I glared at him until he complied, sinking back into the pink monstrosity. As if nothing had happened, he tapped his chin. "Now where was I...? Oh, right. And faeries-"

"Faeries are fallen angels," said Overkill, interjecting herself into our conversation again, "cast down out of heaven for their pride. At least, that's the legend. It's also said that they're the offspring of demons and angels, which always seemed more likely to me. Good and evil, mixing together. Faeries are as beautiful as angels are supposed to be-"

"But they have a lot of mischief and cruelty in them," said Jace, cutting her off. "I would know."

"And you'll notice most of them avoid midday sunlight, for the devil has no power," rattled off Overkill, "except in the dark." Gosh, she was rambling more incessantly than she usually did!

Jace scowled at her. He quite obviously didn't like her stealing his thunder. I realized something in what the old woman had said. "Wait, 'supposed to be'? Angels don't exist?" I'd been raised as a non-strict Roman Catholic, and wasn't particularly a religious zealot, but that still came as a bit of a shocker. If Overkill was to be believed, at least, which was skeptical.

"Enough about angels," said Overkill, suddenly practical. "It's true that warlocks can't have children. My father adopted me because he wanted to make sure there'd be someone to attend this place after he moved on. I don't have to master magic myself. I have only to watch and guard."

"Guard what?" I asked suspiciously.

"What indeed?" With a wink, the older woman reached for a sandwich from the plate, devouring it extremely quickly. I looked on with some horror at the inelegant eater, and Overkill chuckled, gesturing at the remains of my sandwich in front of me. "It's good to see a young woman eat her fill. In my day, girls were robust, strapping creatures, not twigs like they are nowadays."

Was she trying to insult me for being too skinny? "Um, thanks?" I asked, forehead wrinkling. I'd barely even _touched_ the thing. It only had one bite mark from the side, a picturesque crescent from where my perfect teeth (I _had_ gone through braces) had taken a taste. I finished the rest of my icky tea in one mondo-gulp and set the cup down with a light tap.

Instantly, Madame Overkill pounced on the cup and stared into it intently, a line appearing between her penciled eyebrows.

"What are you doing now?" I said, most uninterested with her tedious overcompensation. "Reading my tea leaves? Checking for 'the grim'?" Even so, Jace and I both leaned forward as she turned the cup around in her thick fingers, scowling. "Do you see it? Am I in 'grave danger' or something equally as ludicrous?"

"It is neither bad nor good. It is confusing. I see family problems, a love on the horizon, severe lifestyle changes, confusion, but all things are jumbled together, interlocked like vines forming a single rope-" Overkill looked at Jace. "Give me _your_ cup," she commanded.

Jace looked affronted. "But I'm not done with my-"

The old woman snatched the cup out of his hand and splashed the excess tea back into the pot. That was _hardly_ sanitary, and some unfortunate sap would unknowingly end up with a mouthful of Jace germs.

Frowning, Overkill gazed at what remained. "I see violence in your future, a great deal of blood shed by you and others. You'll fall in love with the wrong person. Also, you'll have an enemy." Pssh. How... stereotypical. So obscure that it couldn't _possibly_ help but come true.

"Only one? That's good news." Jace leaned back in his fluffy chair as Overkill put his cup down and re-picked up mine. What did she see now, another grim? A cross and a sun? Would I go through pain but be happy about it?

She shook her head. "There is nothing concrete for me to read here. The images are disorderly, probably meaningless." She glanced at me. "Is there a block in your mind?"

"Excuse me?" I asked. Was that another insult or something?

Jace leaned forward alertly. "Don't be so hasty," he said. "It's true that she claims to not remember ever having the Sight before this week. Maybe-"

"Maybe you're being too nosy," I snapped. "It's my life, now leave me alone. And don't _leer_ at me, you pretentious moron."

Jace assumed an injured air. "I wasn't going to."

"Yes you were," I said impatiently. "Admit it, you were about to start leering."

"Maybe," he acknowledged, "but that doesn't mean I'm not right. Something's blocking your memories, I'm sure of it." What? What was he saying, that I was repressing traumatic events from my childhood or something?

"Very well, let's try something else." Overkill put the cup down and reached for the tarot cards wrapped in a silk ribbon. She fanned them out and held them out to me. I scowled at the cards like they were poisonous, just because I was now in a sour mood. I didn't have any gosh-darn block in my memories, darn it. "Slide your hand over these until you touch one that feels hot or cold, or seems to cling to your fingers. Then draw that one and show it to me."

Was that even _possible_, or was it just hypothetical? To find out, I ran my fingers over the cards. They were cool to the touch and slippery, but (as I suspected) none of them were special. I selected one at random, and held it up.

"The Ace of Cups," Overkill said, notably bemused. "The love card." She added with a sickening smile, "Are you in love?"

I snorted whilst turning it around to look at it. It was heavy in my hand, the image on the front thick with real, dried paint. It showed a hand holding up a cup in front of a sun painted with gilt. The cup was made of gold, engraved with a pattern of smaller suns and rubies. But... I recognized the painting style. It was the one thing Jocelyn was good at, after all. I studied the card more. "How depressing. Just a cup. I was expecting something a bit more clichéd, like lovers standing on top of a hill shaped like a goblet, or something similar. This is just... normal." It _was_ normal, nothing like I'd expect a tarot deck owned by Madame Overkill to resemble. "Anyway, is this a good card?"

"Not necessarily. The most terrible things men do, they do in the name of love. But it is a powerful card. What does it mean to you?"

I considered the question. "That tarot in general is a load of nonsense?" I looked at the card again, and thought of my missing mother. "Jocelyn painted these, didn't she?"

Overkill nodded, a look of pleased satisfaction on her face. "She painted the whole pack. A gift for me."

"So you say." Jace stood up, his eyes cold. "How well did you know Carrie's mother?"

I looked up at him, kind of annoyed at how overprotective and smothering he was getting. Gosh, he was acting like a second Simon, and I just met the guy a few days before. I knew he meant well, but I was an independent woman and could fend for myself. "Jace, calm down-"

Overkill sat back in her chair, the cards fanned out across her wide chest. "Jocelyn knew what I was, and I knew what she was. We didn't talk about it much. Sometimes she did favors for me- like paining this deck of cards- and in return I'd tell her the occasional piece of Downworld gossip. There was a name she asked me to keep an ear out for, and I did."

Jace's expression was blank and unreadable. "What name was that?"

"Valentine." If Hodge was here, he'd have flinched. Kind of like how everyone in HP reacted to the name 'Voldemort'.

"Why would she want to know about _him_?" I asked, but was cut off by Jace.

"When you say you knew what Jocelyn was, what do you mean? What was she?" Jace pressed.

"Jocelyn was what she was," said Overkill. "But in her past she'd been like you. A Shadowhunter. One of the Clave."

"_What_?" I asked, telling myself I'd heard wrong. Jocelyn, a Shadowhunter? The idea was _still_ laughable.

Overkill looked at me with sad, pitying eyes. I didn't _want_ her pity, I wanted the truth. "It's true. She chose to live in this house precisely because-"

"Because this is a Sanctuary," Jace said to her. "Isn't it? Your father was a High Warlock. He made this space, hidden, protected- it's a perfect spot for Downworlders on the run to hide out. That's what you do, isn't it? You hide criminals here." Another great reason to dislike the old woman.

"You _would_ call them that," the loathsome Overkill said. "You're familiar with the motto of the Covenant?"

"_Sed lex dura lex_," said Jace automatically. "The Law is hard, but it is the Law." Wow, what a great motto. Not.

"Sometimes the Law is too hard. I know the Clave would have taken me away from my father if they could. You want me to let them do the same to others?"

"So you're a philanthropist." Jace's lip curled, and I crossed my arms as I stared down Overkill. "I suppose you expect me to believe that Downworlders don't pay you handsomely for the privilege of your Sanctuary?"

Overkill grinned, a wide flash that betrayed gold molars. Yuck. "We all can't get by on our looks like the two of you." Was she... complimenting Jace and me after all those insults?

Jace looked unmoved by the flattery. "I should tell the Clave about you-"

"You really should," I encouraged. "Turn this hag in."

He nodded approval at me, and then his face turned mutinous. He strode to the wall and tore aside one of the velvet hangings. "You want to tell me what this is?" he demanded.

"It looks like a door, smart one," I said. It _was_ a door, set strangely in the wall between the two bay windows. I hadn't seen it from the outside, ever, so it obviously couldn't lead anywhere, right? It looked as if it were made of some softly glowing metal, more buttery than brass but as heavy as iron. The knob was in the shape of... an eye? Once again, I doubted Overkill's sanity.

"Carrie, be quiet for a second," Jace said impatiently, so I threw a teaspoon at him. He didn't even react, since his now-livid attention was focused on the elderly lady also in the room. "It's a Portal. Isn't it?"

"It's a five-dimensional door," said Overkill, laying all the tarot cards back on the table. "Dimensions aren't all straight lines, you know. There are dips and folds and nooks and crannies all tucked away. It's a bit hard to explain when you've never studied dimensional theory, but, in essence, that door can take you anywhere in this dimension that you want to go. It's-"

"An escape hatch," said Jace, looking at me with that crazed excitement he got a lot. "That's why your mother wanted to live here. So she could always flee at a moment's notice."

Realization crashed over me, and I was suddenly horrified. "She didn't leave that night because of me. Jocelyn wouldn't leave me behind. So she stayed."

Jace shook his head. "You can't blame yourself."

I stood up, setting my jaw. "I don't care. Can we please leave now?" Jace took a step over to me, his hand outstretched like he was going to _touch_ me again. I ducked out of his way. "No. Back off." But sadly, I tripped backwards. I reached out for the closest thing to grab onto (besides Jace!) and latched onto it, it turning in my grasp. What?

I jerked my head to the side. The doorknob. Oh, no...

It spun rapidly in my hand, the door flying open as if I'd pushed it. "Carrie, no!" called Jace, even though it was all his fault. Overkill lumbered to her feet with a cry, but it was too late.

I found myself flinging forward and tumbling through empty space.


	8. Chapter 8

**THE NEW AND MUCH IMPROVED EFFORT OF THIS CONCEPT (changing _City of Bones_ by Cassandra Clare for the better) IS FINALLY UP. FIND IT ON MY PROFILE AS SIMPLY _City of Bones_. I'VE WORKED LONG AND HARD ON IT AND I HOPE YOU'LL ALL ENJOY IT.**

****Love,  
>I Suffer From Hubris<strong>  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eight: Weapon of Choice<strong>

I was too surprised (and awesome) to scream. The sensation of falling was the definite worst part; my heart flew up into my throat and my stomach turned to water. I felt like HP must have when he took his first Portkey, except I wasn't attached to anything. I flung my hands out, trying to grab onto something that might slow my all-too-rapid descent.

I felt branches. Leaves tore off in my grip. I thumped to the ground, hard, twisting violently in midair so that I wouldn't die. I landed on my hands and knees, knocking the wind out of me, so I groaned and rolled over onto my back. I was just about to sit up when- lo and behold- someone landed on top of me.

I was knocked backward. A forehead banged against mine, knees crashing into someone else's. Tangled up in arms and legs, I coughed blonde hair (certainly not mine; I was narrowly brunette) out of my mouth and tried to struggle out from under the weight that felt like it was crushing me flat.

I noticed who was on top of me, and screamed, flailing madly around. "AK! GET OFF OF ME, YOU PRETENTIOUS CREEPER!"

"Ouch," Jace said against my ear, his tone indignant. "You elbowed me."

"Yeah, well, you _landed_ on me. Get off. Now." He was _way_ too close for comfort, close enough to force-kiss me. "Get off already! Ugh, what's taking you?"

He levered himself up onto his arms and looked down at me placidly. I could see blue sky above his head, a bit of a tree branch, and the corner of a gray clapboard house. "Well, you didn't leave me much choice but to land on you, did you? Not after you decided to leap merrily through that Portal like you were jumping the F train. You're just lucky it didn't dump us out in the East River."

I gave him my are-you-serious face. "I was avoiding you, thanks. If _you_ hadn't decided to creep on me like that, we wouldn't be in this..." my face twisted into a grimace, "compromising position." This was the sort of thing that would happen in shojo manga, not real life. Why wouldn't he stop hovering above me? The creeper.

He grinned. "Why, does being in such close proximity to my face make you uncomfortable?"

"No," I snapped, lying. "I'm uncomfortable because you're acting like you're going to rape me any second now. So GO AWAY before I kill you."

Jace didn't move, and was still smiling that irritating little smirk of his. "I'd like to see you try when you _need_ me with you at all times to protect you."

I raised an eyebrow and said self-importantly, "I most certainly _do not_ need someone as annoying as you trying to _protect_ me. I can hold my own just fine, and I don't want a bodyguard. You didn't have to follow me through that Portal just now, for instance."

"Yes, I did," Jace claimed. "You're far too inexperienced to protect yourself in a hostile situation without me."

"_Au contraire,_" I said, scrutinizing him. "Hmm. Does this count as a so-called 'hostile situation'?"

"Of course not."

"Really, now." I looked around and then back up at him. "Because from my perspective, it's entirely hostile. I'm being pinned to the ground by some random stalker I just met, like, four days ago, and he's not letting me get up despite my protests." I contemplated that further. "Technically, I could sue you for sexual assault."

Jace rolled his eyes, and still didn't budge from his position. What if he... liked it? Yuck. I'd _kill_ him. "You wouldn't do that."

"Yes, I would. In a heartbeat," I said quickly.

"You and I both know I'm only trying to keep you safe," he said, smirk disappearing and being replaced by a look of... honesty? Maybe he was serious, albeit misguided. I didn't _need_ protection.

Still, I passed off my emotions as sarcasm. "Wow. That's _sooo_ sweet. Maybe I'll forgive you after all."

"Forgive me? For what?"

"Oh, let's see," I said in false consideration. "You stalked me, you kidnapped me, you told me to shut up, _and_ you're refusing to get off me."

His eyes narrowed. "I did not... Well, I did, but you were-"

What he was rambling about, I genuinely couldn't care less. "Just get up, okay? My arm is falling asleep." It was true; my arm was unpleasantly trapped under my back and beginning to cramp. I rolled to the side to free it, my hair flipping in Jace's face (unintentionally, but still hilariously), and I saw the brown grass of a dead lawn, a chain-link fence, and more of the gray clapboard house. Rather... the distressingly familiar gray clapboard house. I froze, mouth open and eyes wide. "Jace... I know where we are."

He stopped babbling, finally. "What?"

I stared up at him, remaining in my state of semi-disbelief. "I know. Where we are. This is Luke's house. Jocelyn's non-boyfriend's house. Also known as the Wolverine's version of the bat-cave..." Great. Now _I_ was rambling.

I sat up abruptly, knocking into Jace and therefore pitching him to the side. He rolled gracefully to his feet and held out a hand to help me up. I swatted at it and stood up on my own, shaking out my numb arm.

We were in front of a small gray row house, nestled among the other row houses that lined the Williamsburg waterfront. A breeze blew off the East River, setting a small sign swinging over the brick front steps. I distractedly watched Jace as he read the block-lettered words aloud, "_Garroway Books. Fine Used, New, and Out-of-Print. Closed Saturdays."_ He glanced at the dark front door, its knob wound with a heavy padlock. A few days' worth of mail lay on the doormat, untouched. Jace turned to me. "He lives in a bookstore?"

"Of course not, moron. The Wolverine lives _behind_ the store." I looked up and down the empty street, which was bordered on one end by the arched span of the Williamsburg Bridge, and by a deserted sugar factory on the other. Across the sluggishly moving river, the sun was setting behind the skyscrapers of lower Manhattan, outlining them in gold. Really, a lame place for the Wolf-Den, which is how I affectionately referred to Luke's house. It would have been _so_ much cooler in a better location, but whatever. "Tell me something, Shadowhunter. How did we get here?"

"Through the Portal," Jace said, examining the padlock. "It takes you to whatever place you're thinking of."

"But I wasn't thinking of anywhere," I objected. "I was just trying not to have a panic attack."

"You must have been thinking about here, you just don't remember it."

I glared at him. "I'd remember thinking about something like this, smart one. I can honestly tell you that I wasn't thinking about here at all."

"If you say so." He dropped the subject, seemingly uninterested. "So, since we're here anyway..."

I asked skeptically, "What are you getting at?"

"What do you want to do?"

An evil smile spread across my face of its own accord. "Well, the Wolverine specifically told me not to come here... Let's go inside. It can't hurt to investigate." The Wolverine's Suspicious Life II: Revenge of the Detective. Coming soon to a theater near you. "We don't have a choice."

"We always have choices," Jace pointed out, probably quoting something. "But I can see where you're coming from. Do you have keys to the house?"

"Of course not." I pushed my bangs behind my left ear, saying, "But he almost always keeps the back door unlocked, so we can sneak through there." I gestured to the narrow alley between the Wolf-Den and the next house.

"You sure he isn't home?"

I just looked at Jace, expression blank. "Let me think about that. His truck's gone, the store's closed, and all the lights are off. Then again, he's the Wolverine. What do _you_ think?"

"I'd say probably not. Lead the way."

The thin aisle between the row houses ended in a high chain-link fence. It surrounded Luke's small back garden (only the Wolverine could be a superhero and keep a garden, of course), where the only plants flourishing seemed to be the weeds that had sprung up through the paving stones, cracking them into powdery shards.

"Up and over," Jace said, jamming the toe of a boot into a gap in the fence. I watched in slight fascination as he noisily climbed to the top, stood for a second to get his bearings, and sprang down the other side, landing in the bushes to the accompaniment of an earsplitting yowl and a feminine cry that sounded strangely like, "HOLY FUCKING SHIT! Who the fuck are YOU?"

I was undoubtedly confused, so I just stood there and observed. I heard Jace shout in surprise as he fell backward. A dark shadow, followed by another, exploded out of the shrubbery and streaked across the yard, keeping low. Rolling to his feet, Jace darted after them, looking murderous.

It was time for me to intervene, sigh. I gripped the fence and scaled it, vaulting over the top and onto the dirt-packed ground just as Jace yelled triumphantly, "I've got one of them!" I turned to see Jace sitting on top of one of the intruders, whose arms were up over his head.

"Didn't know you swung that way, Jace," I smirked, but he ignored me.

"Come on, let's see your face-"

"Get the hell off me, you pretentious asshole," the intruder snarled, shoving at Jace. There was only one person I could think of who would immediately describe Jace exactly by the adjective that I did...

The girl's voice yelled from very nearby as the boy struggled halfway into a sitting position, his battered glasses knocked askew, "You fucking _tell_ him, Bitch-Gay-Ass-Simon!"

I stopped dead in my tracks, well attuned to the girl's speaking style. "Simon?" I looked in the direction of the girl's voice. "And Maddie?"

"Oh, God," said Jace, sounding resigned. "And here I'd actually hoped I'd got hold of something interesting."

Maddie walked up and ambushed me into a hug (grr- I was _not_ the huggy type) from behind. "So, Carrie, you miss us?"

"Of course!" I said, edging my way out of the bear hug. "Why are you guys here?"

Jace reluctantly got off Simon and leaned against Luke's house, arms crossed as he surveyed the scene. Simon got shakily to his feet, adjusting his glasses. "I think the better question is why _you're_ here, Fray."

"And who's the blonde?" Maddie added, jerking a thumb in Jace's direction. "We overheard your conversation and saw him straddling you like that." They both narrowed their eyes menacingly at Jace.

I coughed, blushing slightly. "Well, that's Jace. You met him over the phone."

"_That's_ Jace?" asked Simon wildly, jumping to his feet. "This is the idiot that kidnapped you and your cat?"

"Exactly."

Maddie tilted her head and scrutinized Jace. "Hmm," she said to him. "You're very pretty."

I coughed again until Simon thumped me on the back as Jace lazily looked at her, saying, "Thanks."

"No, really. I'd never cut the testicles off someone as pretty as you. The world _needs_ your DNA in the gene pool, damn it!" she said zealously, banging a fist on the railing for emphasis.

I was struck down by coughing again. Leave it to Maddie to be brutally candid about anything and everything.

Simon cut in, "But what were you doing with our Carrie?"

"Refusing to get off me, that's what," I said. "First he _landed_ on me, and then blatantly refused to get off. Nothing else happened, guys. Seriously." Jace creeping on me didn't count, and would only alarm the twins further.

Still, Simon definitely counted as 'alarmed'. He turned angrily to Jace, practically screaming, "Is that true?"

Jace looked over Simon's shoulder at me, raising an eyebrow at my obvious choice of best friend material. Then he turned his gaze back to Simon. "Obviously. I'm quite the gentleman."

I snorted, and Maddie said snarkily, "You sure as hell didn't _seem_ like a fucking gentleman when you were pinning Carrie down like that, bitch."

"I could have gotten up," I shrugged quietly, but it was very half-hearted.

But Jace was raising an eyebrow and staring confusedly at Maddie. He asked as if he'd misheard, "Did you just call me a bitch?"

I threw myself into the conversation, and told him, "Yes. It's her pet name for anyone and everyone. Me, Simon, teachers, her mom... And now you." I grinned slightly. "If I were you, I'd take it as a compliment. Less messy that way."

Simon drew himself up to his full five feet eight inches (quite shorter than Jace) and tried to appear menacing towards the blonde, crossing his arms. But alas, the image was skewed slightly thanks to all the grass and leaves in Simon's hair. "Now. Jace, _if that is your real name_... You kidnapped Carrie. Answer yes or no."

A verse of 'What's the Buzz' from _Jesus Christ Superstar_ filtered through my mind: '_Why should you want to know? Don't you mind about the future_...'

"Yes," Jace answered unabashedly.

Simon frowned, and went on. "You kidnapped Philip. Answer yes or no."

"No."

That took Simon aback. "W-what?" He cleared his throat, since his voice cracked. "I mean, elaborate." I exchanged an eye roll with Maddie because of his Bad Cop routine.

Jace cracked his neck. "I said _no_. Carrie here sent my friends to get Philip."

Simon turned to me, skepticism in his dark eyes. "Is that true?"

"Yes, Simon," I said patiently, humoring him. His act was silly, but he seemed serious about it. Oh, that overprotective Simon.

"Okay then." Simon unnecessarily cleared his throat again and puffed out his chest. What was going on? Was Simon trying to act... _masculine_? He returned to accosting Jace. "You are somehow romantically affiliated with Carrie. Answer yes or no."

"_Simon!_" I chastised, but Jace interrupted me.

"How many times do I have to tell you _no_?"

"As many times as it takes for you to tell us the truth!" vowed Simon. "Ahem. Anyway." Spots of pink appeared in his cheeks. Oh, great. What was he about to say? Did I even want to hear it? "You have raped Carrie while she was in a coma and could not defend herself. Answer yes or no."

I was so peeved that I was speechless, and all I could do was gape.

Jace said in a flat monotone, "Oh dear. You've figured out my evil plot of kidnapping girls, putting them into comas, and raping them. Whatsoever will I do now?"

"_Answer my question, you ponce!"_ thundered Simon in a more ferocious tone than I'd ever heard coming from him.

"One: I am not a ponce, _you ponce_. Two: Can you _not_ detect sarcasm, or are you as dimwitted as you look?"

"Stop fucking insulting Simon, bitch," Maddie sneered at Jace. "That Bitch-Ass you're putting down is my God-damn brother, damn it."

I face-palmed. This was getting more ridiculous by the second. I spoke up again. "Look. All three of you. _Calm down_." I turned to Maddie and Simon. "This one frolicking here," gesture to Jace, "is in no way romantically involved with me. He's just an idiot. A _creeper_ idiot, but an idiot nonetheless." I looked to Jace. "And if you even _try_ anything, blondie, I promise that I won't hold back. Which means that you'll die. Painfully." As I spun my words, my smirk intensified. "So you'd better not keep creeping on me like you have been."

Jace also smirked. "Like I'd ever procreate with _you_. You're way too bitter and sarcastic and you keep threatening me even though _I'm_ obviously more dangerous." But there was something odd that flashed in his gold eyes at the first part, almost as if he were lying.

I opened my mouth indignantly. "Yeah, well, you're obnoxious and you have a _horrible_ attitude."

"You tell him, Carrie," coached Simon, so I looked at him. He had this... glorified expression on his face. Overprotective Simon, as usual. "Give that asshole his comeuppance."

So I turned to Maddie, who held her hands up in surrender. "Hey, don't look at me. I couldn't care less if you and Pretty Boy here are having sex. And if you are, I want to see the future kids. They'd be fucking _gorgeous!_"

At that moment, Jace and I stared at each other and shuddered, which made Maddie howl with laughter and Simon scowl. Sure, Jace was handsome or whatever, but just... no. Ugh. Gross. (The mental pictures her statement provided were the worst part, and made me blush as red as a strawberry. Jace, AKA The Idiot, just kept smirking. Okay, scratch that. The _Perverted_ Idiot. I'd have to be more on guard from then on.)

I coughed for what seemed like the millionth time and said, blush fading slightly, "Madeline Lewis, that was most unnecessary, you pervert."

"What?" she asked. "What did I do wrong now?"

"What _didn't_ you do wrong?" yelled Simon. Whoa there, Jethro, no need for such fervent emotion. "Like Carrie would ever willingly sleep with this... this..."

"This what?" said Jace, smiling pleasantly.

"This _blonde_!" Simon bellowed hopelessly.

"Relax, Simon," I said soothingly. "Take a deep breath." But why was he acting so strange? Did he want Jace for his gay self? "Come with me and sit down..."

I took hold of Simon's shoulders and steered him to the steps of Luke's patio, where he reluctantly sat. Maddie followed, and plopped down a few steps above Simon where she began picking the grass, leaves, and twigs out of his hair.

Which jogged my memory of how they'd been in Luke's bushes. "Now, Simon. Are you ready to talk? Are you calm now?"

"Uh-huh," he nodded solemnly, pouting slightly.

"Good. What were you guys doing creeping in the Wolverine's bushes like that?" Simon suffered Maddie's ministrations with severely bad grace. He glared sourly at the ground, in an obviously bad mood. "It's quite strange. And probably illegal."

Simon abruptly jerked from Maddie, telling her, "All right, all right, that's enough. I can fix my own hair, damn it."

"_Sure_ you can, Bitch-Ass," she muttered, rolling her eyes. "If you really could, I wouldn't have to brush your fucking hair for you every day." Without waiting for a response, she yanked Simon's head back and plucked the rest of the leaves out. "There. _Now_ you can bitch to Carrie about your miserable life."

"Shut up. You may be my twin, but I'm not afraid to kill you," claimed Simon.

"Yes you are," she retorted.

"I am not."

"Are too."

I was bored by their repetitive conversation, and glanced around for Jace. He had propped himself up on the porch railing and was assiduously pretending to ignore them while using his stele to file the edges of his fingernails. A moment after I turned his way, he looked up and met my gaze unflinchingly.

I swerved back around to the twins. "So. You two were creeping in the Wolverine's bushes and he didn't know you were there."

"Of course he didn't know we were there," said Maddie.

Simon finished irritably, "I've never asked him, but I'm sure he has a fairly stringent policy about random teenagers lurking in his shrubbery." I rolled my eyes and elbowed him. "Ow." If he was rude, then he wouldn't get my undying attention.

I turned to Maddie, ignoring Cranky Simon. "The good thing is that you guys are all right."

"That _we're_ all right?" Simon laughed, a sharp, unhappy sound. "Carrie, do you have any idea what I've- what _we've_- been through this past couple of days?" Oh, great. Here came the whiny sob story. Wah wah wah. Poor abused Simon. "The last time I- _we_- physically saw you, you were running out of Java Jones like a bat out of hell, and then you just..."

Maddie inserted in the tune of 'Pilate's Dream' from _Jesus Christ Superstar_, "_... disappeared... again." _Ah, so I wasn't the only one comparing sayings in life to Andrew Lloyd Webber musicals. That was a relief. Then again, it was Maddie.

Simon glowered at her, but continued. "You never picked up your cell phone- then your home phone was disconnected- then the Wolverine told me you were off staying with some relatives upstate when I _know_ you don't have any other relatives. I thought I'd- _we'd_- done something to piss you off."

I blinked. "Like what?" How could Simon think he'd made me mad? What?

"I don't know," he said sadly. "Something." I glanced at Maddie, almost certain that she's take this whole thing as a joke- and found her staring glumly at the concrete, tracing vague patterns on its surface.

That was opposed to Jace, still occupied with his stele, who chuckled low under his breath.

"Simon," I said, patting his arm, "you guys are my best friends. I wasn't mad at you. And besides, I called."

"Yeah, three days in. After three days of-of me _worrying_ and you... shacking up with some dyed-blonde-"

"-wannabe goth you probably met at Pandemonium," finished Maddie, a satisfied look on her face.

I sighed, and tried my best to be patient. "I. _Told_ you. That I. Was not. Shacking up." I inhaled deeply, glad that the falling darkness masked my slight blush. "I was in a _coma_."

"And my hair is naturally blonde," interjected Jace. "Just for the record."

"So what have you been doing for the past _day_?" asked Maddie.

Simon added, a suspicious glint in his eyes (or maybe it was just his glasses sparkling in the dim light- who knows?), "Do you really have a great-aunt Matilda who contracted avian flu and needed to be nursed back to health?"

"Did the Wolverine actually say that?" I wondered. That was a bit creative for the _Wolverine_. I mean, seriously. Come on. This was _Luke_ we were talking about.

"No. He just said you had gone to visit a sick relative, and that your phone probably didn't work out in the country."

"Not that we believed him," said Maddie.

Simon nodded agreement. "After he shooed us off his front porch, we went around the side of his house and looked in the back window. We watched him pack up a green duffel bag like he was going away for the weekend. That was when we decided to stick around and keep an eye on things."

"Why, because he was leaving? That makes no sense," I said.

"The Wolverine was packing it full of really bad-ass-looking weapons," Maddie told me. "A few even looked like they were glowing, or some shit like that. Knives, a couple daggers, a sword..." What, the Wolverine possessing weapons? Since when? As far as I knew, he was just Jocelyn's personal superhero/non-boyfriend.

"Now," concluded Simon. "Are you going to say we imagined the whole thing?"

"Of course not," I said, stretching my legs out in front of me. I glanced at Jace, and noted that the last of the sunset struck gold sparks in his eyes. Weird. "I'm going to tell them the truth," I told him.

Jace exhaled. "I know you are."

"And are you going to try and stop me?"

He looked down at the stele in his hand. "My oath to the Covenant binds me. No such oath binds you."

I smiled in a self-satisfied way. "Exactly." Then I turned back to the twins, taking a deep breath. "All right. Here's what you have to know."

By the time I was finished with my monologue, the sun was fully under the horizon and the porch was in darkness. Maddie and Simon had actually not interrupted me, but listened to my lengthy explanation with almost impassive expressions, wincing slightly when I got to the part with the Ravener. When I was done speaking, I cleared my tired throat, suddenly dying for a glass of water. Anyway, I said, "So. Any questions?"

"We've got _plenty_ of questions," the twins said in unison. "Several."

I exhaled warily, mentally preparing for the onslaught. "Okay. Go ahead."

Simon pointed at Jace. "Now, he's a- what do you call people like him again?"

"Shadowhunters, Bitch-Ass," Maddie told him, smacking him upside the head. "Can't you remember a damn thing?"

"Ow, that was unnecessary," Simon complained.

"It was too necessary, Bitch-Ass. Now stop complaining." Their sibling banter was equally as refreshing as it was tiresome, strangely.

"I'm a demon hunter," Jace clarified. "I kill demons. It's not that complicated, really."

Maddie looked at me, raising an eyebrow slightly. Her eyes were narrowed, as if she half-expected me to tell her none of it was true and I was just playing around because I was cruel and enjoyed deceiving people (which was true, but not in this case). Still, her voice was all curiosity. "For real?"

"For real," I said truthfully, without missing a beat.

There was an intent look on Simon's face. "And there are vampires, too? Werewolves, warlocks, all that stuff?"

"If blondie isn't lying to me, yes."

"And you kill them, too?" Simon asked, directing his question at Jace, who had put the stele back in his pocket and was examining his flawless nails for defects.

"Only when they've been naughty." Pssh. Stupid response for Pervert 1 and Pervert 2, AKA Maddie and Simon. Gosh, he should have known better.

For a moment, the twins just sat there and stared at the concrete stairs. Was telling them the wrong thing to do? Simon was the most practical person I knew, what if he hated knowing something like this with no logical explanation? Maddie would probably think it was cool, but what if she didn't? I leaned forward anxiously just as they raised their heads in unison and said, "That is so _awesome_." WHAT?

Jace's expression mirrored my thoughts. _Shocked_. "Awesome?"

"Hells yeah," Maddie said earnestly.

Simon nodded enthusiastically enough to make the dark, straight hair bounce on his forehead. "Totally. It's like Dungeons and Dragons, but _real_."

Jace was looking at Simon like he was a particularly disgusting piece of roadkill. Mean Jace. "It's like what?"

I sighed, resisting the urge to face-palm. "It's a game. A game that Simon was obsessed with a few years ago where people pretend to be wizards and elves, and they kill fantastical beasts."

Jace still looked like someone had cast the Confundus Charm from HP on him.

Maddie and Simon grinned. Maddie said, "You've never heard of Dungeons and Dragons?"

"I've heard of dungeons," Jace said. "Also dragons. Although they're mostly extinct."

Simon seemed slightly disappointed. "You're telling us that you've never slayed a dragon?"

"He's probably never met a six-foot-tall hot elf-woman in a fur bikini either, guys. Lay off already," I said irritably. Using my voice hurt my throat and I needed a drink, which made me decidedly crabby.

"Real elves are about eight inches tall," Jace pointed out. "Also, they bite."

"Damn it," Maddie frowned.

Simon kept his hopeful expression. "But vampires are hot, right? I mean, some of the vampires are babes, aren't they?"

Okay. Face-palm moment. I didn't even bother to try to resist the impulse this time. Those two had such one-track minds.

Jace considered the question, to my annoyance. "Some of them, maybe."

"_Awesome_," the twins breathed, excitement in their eyes. _Ugh_. Why did I call them my friends, again?

Jace slid off the porch railing. "So are we going to search the house or not?"

I stopped leaning against the gray wood siding and said indifferently, "Why not."

Maddie stood up and stretched while Simon scrambled to his feet, saying, "Maddie and I are game. What are we looking for?"

"We?" Jace said with a sinister delicacy, the ghost of a smirk on his face. "I don't remember inviting you along."

"Oh, we're _coming_, bitch," Maddie declared.

"She means it, Jace," I warned. "Can we go already?"

The left corner of his mouth quirked up. "Just joking, Carrie, don't have a temper tantrum." I loathed how he was talking down to me.

I crossed my arms defiantly and glared at him. "I have two allies here with me that could double as assassins. Don't push me, blondie, because if I give the word, my hit-men will pounce. And that's a promise." I added in a contemplative afterthought, "And besides, you haven't seen one of my full-out temper tantrums. I wouldn't provoke me if I were you, blondie."

"Must you take everything so seriously?" he chided with a hint of... playfulness? AH! Internal Panic Attack commence!

On the outside, I just stared at him, dark humor in my gray eyes. "Certainly. It's part of my character."

"Or is it? Perhaps I just make you uncomfortable," he suggested.

"Pssh," I said elegantly. "_I_ make _you_ uncomfortable, and that's why you feel the need to be so darn obnoxious all the time."

Maddie cut in impatiently, "Can you two _please_ stop the witty banter? And are we going to go in, or not?"'

Jace stepped aside, leaving me a clean path to the door and inclining his head, as if a servant welcoming me inside a fancy establishment. The pretentious moron. "Ladies first," he grinned, moonlight glinting off his white teeth.

I wrinkled my forehead, and said in my Innocent Voice, "But Simon is behind me."

Jace and Maddie laughed, and Simon said, "_Carrie!"_

"What? I'm opening the door. Shut up." I fumbled for the doorknob in the dark, my hand closing around it almost immediately. The door opened, triggering the porch light which illuminated the entryway. But alas, the door to the bookstore was closed, and I hopelessly jiggled the knob. "Hark! Yon door is locked."

Jace gently pushed me away from the door. "Allow me, mundanes." I rolled my eyes, but he wasn't looking. He took his stele out of his pocket and put it to the door. Simon watched him with resentment and Maddie fascination, and I assumed that no amount of vampire babes could ever make Simon like Jace. Or did he _like_-like Jace? That would be strange indeed.

"He's a piece of work, isn't he?" Maddie muttered to me, smiling. "A pretty piece of work, but still a piece of work."

Simon added in a hushed tone to me, "How the hell do you stand him?"

I shrugged uneasily. "Well..." I thought about it. How _did_ I put up with Jace? Personality-wise, he was actually a lot like myself- arrogant and bitterly sarcastic. Was it honestly that bad putting up with _me_? Yikes. Hopefully not. "He saved my life, I guess."

Maddie tilted her head at me. "How-"

With a click, the door swung open. "Here we go," said Jace, sliding his stele back into his pocket. I saw the Mark on the door- just over my head, and therefore far below eye-level for Jace (grr)- fade as we all passed through. The back door opened into a small storage room, the bare walls peeling paint. Cardboard boxes were stacked everywhere, their contents identified with black marker scrawls: "Fiction", "Poetry", "Cooking", "Local Interest", "Romance".

I gestured to another door at the far end of the room, starting to walk in that direction. "The apartment's through here, guys."

Jace caught my arm, and I saw Simon's half-hidden scowl. "Wait," Jace said.

I pulled my arm away, looking at him semi-nervously. "What, is something wrong?"

"I don't know." He edged between two narrow stacks of boxes, and whistled. "Carrie, you might want to come over here and see this."

I glanced around in the dim storage room, the only light coming from the porch lamp through the window. "Despite what you may think, I can't see in the dark very well-" Bright light suddenly flared up, bathing the room in a brilliant glow. My eyes started watering uncontrollably, and I put my hand up to stop it.

Maddie yelled dramatically, "Too... much... _light_!"

Jace carefully removed my hand from my face so I slapped his hand away, and he asked, "Are you... _crying?_"

"Of course not," I snapped, shutting my eyes tightly. "Some of us have extremely sensitive eyes, O Blonde One, that don't adjust to sudden flashes of light. Now back off, creeper."

He chuckled, his slight laugh growing more distant. After a few seconds of adjusting, I opened my eyes. He was now standing on top of a sealed wooden crate, his hand raised. Something glowed in his palm, the light escaping through his cupped fingers. "Witchlight," he explained.

Maddie nodded appreciatively while Simon muttered something unintelligible. I worked my way through the sea of boxes, clearing a path to Jace. How had he gotten there? Anyway, Jace was behind a teetering pile of mysteries, the witchlight casting a strange glow over his face, almost like someone holding a flashlight under their chin. "Look at that," he directed, indicating a space higher up on the wall. At first I thought he was pointing at a pair of ornamental wall sconces, but then I remembered that the Wolverine didn't _have_ any ornamental wall sconces (didn't suit his decor). Then again, I didn't remember him having these either... They were actually loops of metal attached to short chains, the ends of which were sunk into the wall. "Um-"

"Manacles," said Simon, picking his way through the boxes with his twin.

Maddie said, studying the wall, "That's, ah... kinky."

I shot her an annoyed look. "Come _on_, guys. This is the _Wolverine_ we're talking about here." Then again, for all I knew, he _could_ have been a bondage enthusiast.

Jace reached up to run his hand along the inside of one of the metal loops. When he lowered it, his fingers were dusted with red-brown powder. What. The. _Folk?_ "Blood. And look." He pointed to the wall right around where the chains were sunk in. The plaster was buckled outward. He continued unnecessarily, "Someone tried to yank these things out of the wall. Tried pretty hard, from the looks of it."

My heart began beating rapidly, but I said calmly, "You didn't need to say that. We're not stupid."

Jace looked at Simon and then back at me, as if saying, "You sure about this one here?"

I closed my eyes for a few seconds to relax, and then opened them again. "Um, do you think that the Wolverine is alright, Jace?"

He lowered the witchlight. "I think we'd better find out."

The door to the apartment-section of the Wolf-Den was thankfully unlocked, and led into the Wolverine's living room. Despite the hundreds of books in the store itself, there seemed to be thousands more in the apartment. Bookshelves rose to the ceiling, shelves "double-packed" with books, one row blocking another. Most were poetry and fiction, with plenty of fantasy and mystery thrown in. I fondly remembered plowing through the entire _Chronicles of Narnia _and _A Series of Unfortunate Events_ books when I was eight, curled up in Luke's window seat as the sun went down over the East River and I tried to avert my boredom while he and Jocelyn played Parcheesi.

It was all rustic and slightly outdated, with a heavy sprinkling of lumberjack-theme. Plaid and oak wood were everywhere, the plaid especially on clothes that were strewn over the chairs, the couch, every surface. The centerpiece of the room was a ratty, faded, old olive-colored couch that was facing an antique black-and-white television with rabbit-ear antennas.

"I personally think he's still around," called Maddie, standing in the doorway of the Wolverine's small kitchenette. "The coffee machine is on and it's working. And it makes me want some coffee."

I joined the twins in the kitchen, looking around. Dishes stacked in the sink. The Wolverine's jackets hung neatly on pegs on a wall. Gosh, he really needed some new decor... Something more space-age and modern, yet at the same time rustic and strange. Something more fitting of one called 'Wolverine' because of his facial hair. Something more fitting of a Wolf-Den. Something _less_ fitting of... Luke.

Then I walked down the hallway, deciding to creep on his bedroom. It looked normal, the unmade bed with its gray coverlet and flat pillows, the top of his dresser covered in loose cash. Ooh, money. No. Stealing was bad. I turned away, bemused. Some part of me had been 99.9% positive that we'd find Luke's house in ruins, and stumble across the dead Wolverine, lying in a pool of his own blood or something similar. That's what would happen if my life was a book or movie, at least. Still... I didn't know what to think.

Except for one coherent sentence.

_Where the heck was the Wolverine and what did he know about Jocelyn?_

I crossed the hallway as if in a daze to the cramped guest bedroom where I'd stayed so many, sad times when Jocelyn was out on 'business'. I would lock myself in the claustrophobia-inducing bedchamber in a self-imposed exile where I could take advantage of the Wi-Fi running around his house for my laptop while Luke watched old, stinky horror movies on the flickering black-and-white TV. I'd even taken to bringing a bag of extra things to the Wolf-Den to occupy my time here, and so that I didn't have to constantly be packing and unpacking my things.

Kneeling down, I tugged out the messenger bag by its dark purple strap. It was covered in buttons the twins had forced upon me. GAMERS DO IT BETTER. IF YOU CAN READ THIS, YOU'RE STANDING TOO CLOSE. LEAF ME A LOAN. SLYTHERIN. FRED GOT FAMOUS. I -heart- MY CAT. JESUS CHRIST SUPERSTAR. THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID. WEASLEY IS OUR KING. VOTE CEDRIC DIGGORY/POTTER STINKS. OSCAR WILDE IS MY HERO. Inside were some neatly folded clothes (okay, I was mildly OCD about certain things), shampoo, conditioner... _Yes. _If only Philip were with me to share my joy. I yelled so that the others could hear me, "I'm going to change my clothes, so I'll be out in a minute. Try not to follow me, perverts!" I was forced to body-slam the bedroom door to get it to close, as always- darn old house- and then changed, slipping off Raven's too big, yet nonetheless awesome, clothes. I pulled on a pair of dark-wash skinny jeans, familiarly comfortable, a blue tank top, and a fuchsia zip-up sweatshirt. When I put my hands in the pockets, I unearthed five dollars (ooh) and a ticket stub from the last HP movie (aah). I grinned to myself at my marvelous findings, throwing them unceremoniously into my messenger bag and was then struck by a predicament: I had two bags with me. Humongous purse and not-small messenger bag. Hmm. I couldn't stuff either into the other... And yet, I didn't want to look like I was boarding an airplane and these were my carry-ons...

I found Jace almost immediately in the Wolverine's book-lined office, examining something on the desk. I held out my messenger bag to him. "Here."

"What?" Jace asked, looking at me like I was crazy.

I shook it for emphasis. "Take it. Please."

"Why?"

I rolled my eyes at his daftness. "Hear you not of chivalry, young squire? Carry my bag for me." I dangled the purple bag like a hypnotist's watch. "It's far too much for me to carry all by myself, and since you're my bodyguard I decided to approach you about it." Time to go for the one thing I knew would work with Jace, or _any_ guy for that matter: flattery. "And besides, it won't threaten your manliness at all, since you have such an overabundance." I knew how to get what I wanted, just the right things to say to people to get them to do my bidding. It really upset Jocelyn and she'd attempted to have 'serious conversations' with me about the topic, but they always ended with me reducing her to tears and going to the Lewis household. What Jocelyn didn't understand was that it was almost like I couldn't _help_ it. She'd just cry and be a blubbering mess and I'd get bored, and so leave.

Anyway, Jace grinned slightly and accepted the bag, hefting it around his shoulder. Wow, that was a hilarious sight to see: Macho-Man Jace wearing a purple messenger bag covered in witty buttons. "Alright," he said smoothly. "Since you asked so nicely."

I nodded appreciation. "Oh, yes, very debonair. You should get one of those for yourself and wear it constantly." I strolled over to the desk, brushing hair back out of my face. Ugh. Sometimes side parts on the right could be severely annoying. Therefore, I wasn't looking at the desk when I asked, "What are you examining, scholar?" It was fun calling Jace things like 'blondie' and 'young squire' and 'scholar' because I knew they irked him.

"See for yourself," he said, and I did.

"_Mio Dio_," I said in brief Italian, since it was the first thing that came to mind (and, coincidentally, two of about seven words I knew in Italian). _My God_. Jace was studying a green duffel bag that lay unzipped across the desk. It was, as Maddie had said, full of 'bad-ass weapons'- sheathed knives, a coiled whip, a wicked-looking javelin, and something that looked like a razor-edged metal disk. Despite the downright weird occurrence, I raised an eyebrow at Jace and pointed to the latter. "Frisbee of Death?" I asked mockingly.

"It's called a _chakhram_, Miss Know-It-All," said Jace. "A Sikh weapon." Ah, so from India. Neat-o. "You whirl it around your index finger before releasing it. They're rare and hard to use. Strange that your mother's Wolverine would have one. They used to be Hodge's weapon of choice, back in the day. Or so he tells me."

Torpidly, I went up to the desk and ran my fingers along the cool metal of the javelin, knowing I held what could be a weapon of mass destruction, at least when wielded by my hand. I could already wound people just by throwing everyday objects at them, but a pointy javelin...

I set it down, the javelin clattering against the wood. I said quickly, "Luke collects things. Art things." I indicated the shelf behind the desk, which was lined with Indian statues, Grecian deities, and Russian icons. My favorite was a statuette of the Greek god Apollo, standing with an arrogant tilt to his head and an amused smirk on his handsome-in-a-statue-way face, although his bow was drawn. Like whatever was threatening Apollo was entertaining to him instead of terrifying. To the side of the desk was an antique Chinese screen, carved out of gleaming rosewood. "You know, peculiar things unfitting of the hero and icon that is Wolverine." Seriously, if Luke insisted upon having his silly facial hair, then he had to be ready to act like the Wolverine and do impersonations.

Jace moved the _chakhram_ aside carefully, and a handful of clothes spilled out of the unzipped end of the duffel bag, as if they'd been an unimportant afterthought like ear plugs or Pepto-Bismol or denture cream. Jace said, "And I think this is yours, by the way."

He drew out a rectangular object hidden among the clothes: a very battered and black-stained copy of...

_Ouran High School Host Club_ Volume 12! Was that the book I'd thrown at the Ravener? I took it out of Jace's hand. "Let me see that..." I flipped it over to the _real_ front cover and opened it up, seeing my neat, even handwriting that proclaimed, _'Ex libris Carrie Fray_.' Out of the library of Carrie Fray. I snapped the book shut, looking at the black-stained faces of Mori, Kyoya, and Hunny. "Yep. This is definitely mine." Just to prove my point, I showed him my very tidy scrawl on the inside cover.

"You have incredibly neat handwriting," Jace observed.

"I know. Thanks." I showed him the binding, and both front covers. "And if you look here, you'll see all the black ichor/blood and scratches from the Ravener that must have gotten on it after I hurled this at it..." I trailed off, seeing the dawning realization on his face. And _I_ realized the same thing. "That means that Luke has been back to my apartment since the attack. Maybe today, even-"

"He must have been the last person to come through the Portal," decided Jace. "That's why it took us here. You weren't thinking of anywhere, so it sent us to the last place it had been."

I snorted, "So kind of Madame Overkill to tell us that little tidbit."

"Luke probably paid her off to be quiet. Either that or she trusts him more than she trusts us."

"I wouldn't put it past her," I told him. "I've made it clear that I _hate_ her, and even threw a door in her general direction."

Jace nodded, enthusiasm growing rapidly. "Which means that Luke might not be-"

"HOLY HELL IN A HAND-BASKET!" came Maddie's voice as she and Simon dashed into the office in breathless panics.

"Someone's coming!" gasped Simon.

I was so startled that I dropped my Volume 12, so Jace picked it up and handed it to me. He made a nice butler/bodyguard. I asked the twins, "Is it the Wolverine?"

Maddie briefly stuck her head into the hallway and then said, "Yeah, it is. He's not alone- there are two other men with him."

"Men?" Jace crossed the room in a few long strides, messenger bag bumping into his shoulder blades (hehehe), peered through the door, and spat a curse under his breath. Sigh. Ugly habit, swearing. I'd have to correct that (I'd given up on the twins long ago). "Warlocks."

I stared at him, adrenaline starting to race through my veins. "Warlocks?" I was bizarrely excited, and I still can't explain why.

Jace backed away from the door and looked at me. "Is there some other way out of here? A back door, anything?"

"Unfortunately, no," I said, effectively faking my composure. It almost slipped when I heard the sounds of heavy footsteps in the hallway, coming closer.

No! I couldn't give in to my nerves! I was Carrie Fray, and I was strong. Nothing could get me that rattled. So I steadied myself, a brave look of determination on my face to inspire the others. If they saw me being unafraid, maybe that would ease their terror, too. Oh, I was such a philanthropist. Carrie Fray: Detective, Philanthropist, and Superstar.

Jace looked around desperately, obviously lacking my degree of self-control, and his eyes rested on the rosewood screen. "Get behind that," he commanded, pointing. "_Now_."

For once, I did what was asked of me (it was such a tense situation). I stuffed Volume 12 of _Host Club_ into my heavy purse and dragged the twins after me as I slipped behind the screen. I briefly caught sight of Jace directly behind us, his stele in his hand. He had barely concealed himself when I heard a door swinging open widely, then people walking into the Wolverine's office, then voices. Three men speaking, one of them the illustrious superhero Wolverine. I glanced nervously at Maddie and Simon. Maddie was slightly open-mouthed and looking tense while Simon just looked (to put it lightly) ill, all pale and sickly and green. I sneaked a peek at Jace, who had raised the stele in his hand and was moving the tip lightly, in a vaguely square shape, across the back of the screen. As I stared, the square became as clear as an un-fingerprinted pane of glass. I noted Simon's sharp intake of breath and Maddie's resulting barely audible hiss to him: "_Shut the hell up, Bitch-Ass_." Jace shook his head at the three of us, mouthing the words: _They can't see us through it, but we can see them_.

Well, _duh_. Even I didn't expect _Jace_ to be as stupid as to create a panel so that potential villains consorting with the Wolverine could see us. I bit my bottom lip and peered through the square, fully aware of Simon breathing down my neck and therefore messing up my hair. I could see the room beyond the window perfectly: the bookshelves, the desk with the duffel bag thrown across it- and the Wolverine himself, looking haggard and slightly stooped. Served him right, in my opinion. None of the office was distorted at all or off-color, like that part of the screen simply didn't exist in the first place. It baffled me, that a little thing such as Jace's stele could make a window like that, like the glass in a police-interrogation room. Strictly one-way.

Luke turned around suddenly, looking back through the doorway. "Yes, feel free to look around," he said sarcastically, scratching his facial hair distractedly. "Nice of you to show such an interest."

A low chuckle sounded from the corner of the office. With an impatient flick of the wrist, Jace tapped the frame of the square-window and it opened wider, showing more of the room. Including the two trespassers in the Wolf-Den who I deemed definite super-villain material.

They were both in floor-length reddish robes that were the color of dried blood (bad sign), their hoods pushed back. One was thin, with a dodgy gray handlebar mustache and triangular beard (also bad sign- no one in the right mind would bother with a sketchy goatee like that). When he smiled, he showed blindingly white teeth. The other was burly and as thickset as a pro-wrestler or bodybuilder, with close-cropped orange hair and freckles, sweat glinting on his meaty forehead. Blech. A _ginger_. Like that Clary-thing. A _sweaty_ ginger_._ Worse yet, his skin was bright and pinkish and appeared shiny over the cheekbones, as if it had been made of pink-tinted white leather and was stretched too tightly, covered in oil.

I hesitantly leaned close to Jace solely for the purpose of whispering to him, despite the look on Simon's face, and whispered as quietly as I could so that it was barely an exhalation, "Those are warlocks?"

He didn't answer, as the poor sap had gone rigid all over, stiff as a lamppost. Hmm. He certainly wasn't afraid of how I was crouched next to him with an arm on his shoulder and some of my hair was carelessly flopped over _his_ shoulder, since _he_ was the one who always creeped on _me_. So why was Jace so tense?

I shifted my curious, unguarded stare from Jace back to the supposed warlocks. Huh, they were actually sort of terrifying in their own unique way. I was used to being small and petite, but the pink-skinned ginger could probably crush me in his hand if he wanted to, which was a scary thought. And the other looked like a shady charlatan or something, what with the beard and mustache combo. All he needed was evening clothes. And a top hat. _That_ would be _incredibly_ freakish.

Curse my demented imagination; I almost missed what Shady Charlatan was saying. "Consider this a friendly follow-up, _Graymark_," he sneered. His smile showed teeth so sharp that they looked like they'd been filed into cannibal points. YAAGH! Definitely worse than a Shady Charlatan! If there was ever a time to mentally use Scooby-Doo catch phrases, this was it! So: JINKIES! ZOINKS!

"There's nothing friendly about you, Pangborn," was Luke's tired reply. He looked seriously worn-out. He sat on the edge of his desk, angling his body so that the men/warlocks/sex offenders/CREEPERS couldn't see the duffel bag's contents. Now that my dear, stylistically misguided Wolverine was closer, I could see that not only was he tired, but his face and hands were badly bruised, his fingers scraped and bloody. A long cut along his neck disappeared into his collar, and the dark circles under his eyes were like bruises. Was he _trying_ to go for the whole Just-Escaped-From-Azkaban look? What had happened to him? He abruptly reprimanded, "Fablehaven, don't touch that- it's valuable."

The big pink ginger, who had picked up the statue of Apollo from the top of the bookcase, ran his beefy fingers over it, considering something. "Nice," he said. Wow. _This_ one stunned me with his extensive vocabulary.

"Ah," said Pangborn, taking the statue from his companion. "He, the god of light and truth who could not be killed by any god or man." Gosh, he forgot to mention that Awesome Apollo was also the god of music, poetry, prophecy, archery... bachelors... The list went on and on, and he'd barely skimmed the surface. He began declaring something that I instantly recognized as the Hymn to Apollo by Callimachus: "_How Apollo's laurel sapling shakes! How the whole temple shakes! Away, away with the wicked! It must be Phoebus knocking at the door with his fair foot. Do you not see? The Delian palm nods gently, All of a sudden; the swan sings beautifully in the air. Bolts of doors, thrust yourselves back. Keys- open the doors! For the god is no longer away!"_

I groaned mutely at Maddie and Simon's reactions. At, 'how the whole temple shakes,' 'knocking at the door with his fair foot', and 'thrust', they both grinned like idiots and exchanged eyebrow-raisings. "You perverts," I hissed to them. They had _such_ one-track minds. As if proving my point, Maddie elbowed Simon and gave him a crude gesture, which Simon returned with a wicked grin. Again, I rolled my eyes and smacked them lightly, as per the usual.

"Very nice," said Luke unenthusiastically. "I didn't know you were a student of the Greek myths."

"All the myths are true," said Pangborn, and I felt an excited shiver travel up my spine. All the myths were true? Seriously? Oh, I'd give anything to meet whatever the equivalent of Apollo was _even_ if he was a sparkly vampire... "Or have you forgotten even that?"

"I forget nothing," Luke replied coolly. Though he appeared relaxed to the untrained eye, I saw tension in the lines of his shoulders and mouth. "I suppose Valentine sent you?" I amused myself with the mental image of Hodge flinching violently at the name, screaming. I heard a strange tension creep into Luke's voice at the mention of the name… Strange…

"He did," said Pangborn, the seemingly more vocal one of the two trespassers. "He thought you might have changed your mind."

Okay, something in the information I was given was wrong. I was clearly told that that _Valentine_ thing was dead, and these excuses for people (including the Wolverine, mind you) were talking about him in the present tense. Either there were two or three (or maybe even seventy- I didn't know) Shadowhunting Valentines, the Valentine they were talking about was still alive, or all these people were horribly messed up in the head.

Luke/Wolverine spoke up again. "There's nothing to change my mind about. I already told you that I don't know anything. Nice cloaks, by the way." Nice subject change, by the way, more like.

"Thanks," said Fablehaven with a sly and extremely hideous grin. "Skinned them off a couple of dead warlocks." So Jace was wrong about them being warlocks? Was this a first? I felt myself smirking at the thought, despite my current whereabouts. I was perched behind a screen, practically falling over Jace so that I would stay upright while Simon shot Jace murderous glances and Maddie looked on edge.

"Those are official Accord robes, aren't they?" Luke asked. "Are they from the Uprising?"

Pangborn chuckled softly. "Spoils of battle."

"Aren't you afraid someone will mistake you for the real thing?"

"Not once they get close," leered Fablehaven, and I shuddered. Even so, what an anticlimactic name for the stupid ginger.

Pangborn fondled the edge of his robe. "Do you remember the Uprising, Lucian?" Huh? Who the heck was Lucian? Were they talking to the Wolverine? "That was a great and terrible day. Do you remember how we trained together for the battle?"

So the Wolverine was an ex-super-villain? That was news to _me_, but explained the weaponry. Luke's face twisted. "The past is the past. I don't know what to tell you gentlemen. I can't help you now. I don't know anything."

"_Anything_ is such a general word, so nonspecific," said Pangborn in a melancholy tone. "Surely someone who owns so many books must know _something_." As much as I didn't like to admit it, Creepy Shady Charlatan did have a valid point.

"If you want to want to write a reference paper on Korean mythology, I could direct you to the correct reference title. But if you want to know where the Mortal Cup had disappeared to..." Alright, something strange was going on. I just happened to show up at the Wolf-Den with Jace to find the twins spying on him while he packed weapons and then we all sneaked into his house, only to find that he and some villainous characters were discussing _exactly_ the things I was told were either dead or missing. Strange indeed. _It seems to me a strange thing, mystifying... _Just what I needed now: Judas from Jesus Christ Superstar singing in my head. Great.

Pangborn purred, "Disappeared might not be the correct word. Hidden, more like. Hidden by Jocelyn."

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Now they were insinuating that _Jocelyn_ could hide something from people for over fifteen years? That was impossible. She was too stupid to even make _cereal_ without setting the kitchen on fire (happened a couple times until I began fixing my _own_ cereal), so how could she hide something as special as the Mortal Cup for that long? Then again, were they talking about the Jocelyn I knew?

"That may be," shrugged the Wolverine. "So she hasn't told you where it is yet?"

"She has not yet regained consciousness," said Pangborn, adjusting the collar of his robe with a long-fingered hand. "Valentine is most disappointed. He was looking forward to their reunion." Wait, _re_union? WHAT? And what was the bit about Jocelyn being unconscious?

"I'm sure she didn't reciprocate the sentiment," muttered Luke.

Pangborn cackled. "Jealous, Graymark?" Another strange thing was that he kept calling Luke 'The Wolverine' Garroway things like 'Lucian' and 'Graymark' like those were part of his name. Luke Lucian Graymark Garroway, perhaps? Nah, too repetitive. Whatever. "Perhaps you no longer feel about her the way you _used_ to."

Now I just _knew_ they were talking about the Jocelyn that was unfortunately my mother. I wasn't dumb like her; _I_ at least knew that the Wolverine wasn't happy being her non-boyfriend.

Jace randomly put his arm around my shoulders. Then I realized that I'd been trembling slightly, and that Jace-the-pretentious-moron had stopped it. Still, he could have _warned_ me, or better yet, left me alone. I shrugged out of his reach and slumped between Maddie and Simon, crossing my arms and staring out the 'window' thing.

I saw Luke speak up again. "I never felt any way about her, particularly," said Luke. What. A. Liar! I'd seen the way he gazed longingly after my hideous maternal unit when he thought I wasn't looking, how whenever he handed her something, his hand lingered on hers for a millisecond longer than necessary, how he fully supported her [bad] decisions to get Botox and went with her to appointment after appointment even though I knew he didn't want to, how he patiently lugged around the billions of boxes of marabou whenever she was redecorating... The Wolverine was in love with Jocelyn (shows his questionable taste, if you ask me) and here he was lying about it. I felt like leaping out and exclaiming, 'It wasn't like that!' and striking a dramatic pose. "Two Shadowhunters, exiled from their own kind, you can see why we might have banded together." I choked silently. The _Wolverine_ was a _Shadowhunter_? Joy, _another_ person lied to me. "But I'm not going to try to interfere with Valentine's plans for her, if that's what he's worried about."

"I wouldn't say he was worried," said Pangborn. "More curious. We all wondered if you were still alive. Still recognizably human." What was that supposed to mean? Gosh, it ate up a lot of my self-control not to jump out from behind the screen, grab the javelin from Luke's bag and threaten these people until they explained everything to me. Ugh. Peculiar urges I had sometimes.

The Wolverine arched his eyebrows. "And?"

"You seem well enough," admitted Pangborn grudgingly, and I wondered what he was. Jace had said that the two villainous types were warlocks, but I no longer believed that. Were they Shadowhunters too? Pangborn set the statue of Apollo back down on the shelf. "There was a child, wasn't there? A girl." Was he taking about me?

Luke looked taken aback. "What?"

"Don't play dumb," snarled Fablehaven. "We know the bitch had a daughter. They found photos of her in the apartment, a bedroom-"

"I thought you were asking about children of mine," Luke interrupted smoothly. Wow, nice recovery (sarcasm). "Yes, Jocelyn had a daughter. Catherine. I assume she's run off. Did Valentine send you to find her?" Okay. These men _were_ talking about me. Fun, fun, fun. And I had not _run off_, thanks. I'd been _kidnapped_ by a pretentious blonde moron.

"Not us," replied Pangborn. "But he is looking, since she looks _just like him_." Oh _great!_ So I had an extremely evil dude who I apparently resembled with a stupid name that was looking for me! Just what every single teenage girl _wants_ in their _wildest_ dreams!

"We could search this place," added Fablehaven. Which would be futile, because they would NEVER find my magnificent hiding place with my comrades behind the screen! MUAHAHAHA- Ehem. Sorry about that.

"I wouldn't advise it," said Luke, sliding off the desk. There was some sort of cold menace to his eyes when he stared down at the two men though his expression hadn't changed. Was this the same bumbling Wolverine I'd known for most of my life? "And what makes you think she's still alive? I thought Valentine sent Raveners to scour the place. Enough Ravener poison, and most people will crumble to ashes, leave no trace behind." Yeesh. Maybe it was a good thing that Jace had crashed in after all.

"There _was_ a dead Ravener," said Pangborn. "It made Valentine suspicious."

"_Everything_ makes Valentine suspicious," said Luke, the same weird inflection in his voice at the time. "Maybe Jocelyn killed it. She was certainly capable." Pfft. Was Wolverine so sure about that? He was talking about the Jocelyn _I_ knew, right? The one whose face was an overly Botox-injected mess and who burst into uncontrollable tears at how I was apparently 'just like' my father?

Fablehaven grunted. "Maybe. But by the looks of her, I'd say she's softened over the years." He chuckled to himself, obviously at memories of the Botox and marabou.

Luke shrugged one shoulder. "Look, I've got no idea where the girl is, but for what it's worth, I'd guess she's dead." LIAR! I'D _CALLED_ HIM ON THE PHONE! "Anyway, she's not much of a danger. She's fifteen years old, she's never heard of Valentine, and she doesn't believe in demons." Not a danger? I was _definitely_ a danger! Could any old teenager throw things with the accuracy and speed that I threw with? Could any old teenager send at least seventeen boys to the hospital just for trying to kiss her? _Could any old teenager kill a Ravener demon and survive?_ UGH! I wanted to grab something out of my bag and send it flying at Luke's head, wanted it to knock him unconscious-

Pangborn chuckled. "A fortunate child." I needed to calm down. Darn my explosive temper. Jocelyn _hated_ how steamed I could get in such a short amount of time, probably because she'd been my main victim when projectile throwing was concerned.

"Not anymore," said Luke.

Fablehaven raised an eyebrow. "You sound angry, Lucian." There was that name again.

And the Wolverine _responded_ to it. Was it a nickname or something? "I'm not angry, I'm exasperated. I'm not planning on interfering with Valentine's plans, do you understand that? I'm not a fool." No, not a fool. A _coward_.

"Really?" said Fablehaven. "It's nice to see that you've developed a healthy respect for your own skin over the years, Lucian. You weren't always so pragmatic."

"You do know," said Pangborn, his tone conversational, "that we'd trade her, Jocelyn, for the Cup? Safely delivered right to your door. That's a promise from Valentine himself." What kind of a demented deal was that? I wanted to jump out again and yell to Luke, "Don't accept the deal, Wolverine!" But I decided against it. I'd find some other way to use my overly dramatic mood to its full potential.

"I know," said Luke. "I'm not interested. I don't know where your precious Cup is, and I don't want to get involved in your politics. I hate Valentine," he said awkwardly, faltering slightly (lying, perhaps?), "but I respect him. I know he'll mow down everyone in his path. I intend to be out of his way when it happens. He's a m-monster- a killing machine," he finished inelegantly. I thought that the Wolverine was a superhero- someone who stood up for what was right, no matter the cost. But no. He was just Luke, and Luke was a coward.

"Look who's talking," snarled Fablehaven.

"I take it these are your preparations for removing yourself from Valentine's path?" said Pangborn, pointing a long finger at the half-concealed duffel bag on the desk. "Getting out of town, Lucian?"

Luke nodded slowly. "Going to the country. I plan to lay low for awhile." Coward, coward, coward, coward, coward-

"We could stop you," said Fablehaven cavalierly, as if he were commenting on the clouds outside. "Make you stay."

The Wolverine smiled, an evil smile that transformed his face. Like in the cartoon version of the Grinch Who Stole Christmas- that 'wonderful, awful idea' smile that the Grinch had. Suddenly, Luke was no longer the Wolverine who lived in a bookstore, pushed me on the swings when I was little, lent me books, and loved Jocelyn. There was now something feral behind his eyes, something vicious and cold. His voice was chilling. "You could try." I sent panicked glances at the twins, who looked just as taken aback/scared as I felt.

Pangborn glanced at Fablehaven, who shook his head once, slowly. _Don't provoke him_, I'd guess. The Shady Shadowhunting Evil Charlatan turned back to Luke, twirling his own mustache with an index finger. Creeper, much? "You'll notify us if you experience any sudden memory resurgence?"

Luke was still leering. "You'll be the first on my list to call." No, Wolverine! Show those interlopers who was boss! Knock them around a bit, and then deliver them back to Valentine! Don't give in and let them _leave_!

I had a very pronounced sense of justice inside me, you see. It's why I was so livid at _Luke_ being so civil to these men. They were evil (that much was certain), and he didn't even try to use his weapons against them. He just... claimed that he didn't care about my mother, or me. I felt sudden loathing towards Jocelyn's Wolverine, and snarled slightly.

Pangborn nodded shortly. "I suppose we'll take our leave. The Angel guard you, Lucian."

"The Angel does not guard those like me," said Luke, picking up the duffel bag. What did the coward's statement mean? He was an exiled Shadowhunter, at least that's what he'd said, and now claimed that the Angel wouldn't guard him. It meant he wasn't a Shadowhunter anymore, surely, but what else could he be? A vampire, the real Wolverine, Voldemort, a Jonas Brother? "On your way, gentlemen?"

Lifting their hoods to cover their faces (DEMENTORS IN RED CLOAKS!), the two men left the room, followed a moment later by Luke. He paused a second at the door, glancing around as if he'd wondered if he'd forgotten something. Then he shut it carefully behind him.

I waited a few seconds for his footsteps to die off and heard him leave, locking the door on his way out, and then I jumped up like I'd wanted to the entire time and stormed out from behind the screen, making a noise of exasperation. "UGH!" I stomped over to his shelf of knickknacks and swung my arm across it, sending them all toppling to the floor except the statuette of Apollo, which I snagged out of the air and put in my purse. I took sick pleasure in the way all his little statues broke into tiny bits, and smiled when the head of a figurine of Kali, the Hindu goddess of destruction, rolled under his desk.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, and smacked behind me without looking so the person would get off. He stepped into my line of sight. Simon. "Carrie?" His voice was hesitant, almost gentle. "Are you okay?"

"Does it look like I'm okay?" I sneered, turning away so that I could calm myself down. It would do no good to hurt/kill Simon by getting too aggravated.

"Of course Carrie isn't okay," said Jace, his voice as sharp and cold as ice shards. He and Maddie also stepped out from behind the screen, Jace moving it aside impatiently. "At least now we know who would send a demon after your mother," he said to me. "Those men think she has the Mortal Cup."

"Which is ridiculous," Maddie said, seemingly still shaken up at what just happened with Luke.

"Maybe," said Jace, leaning against the Wolverine's desk. He fixed his gaze on mine, and I was surprised by how it calmed me down even more. I looked to the wall instead. "Have you ever seen those men before?"

"No," I said, still with a bitter inflection. "This was the first time I've seen them and if I never see them again, it'll be too soon."

"Your mother's _Lucian_ seemed to know them. To be friendly with them."

"I wouldn't say friendly," said Maddie. "I'd say they were suppressing their hostility."

"They didn't kill him outright," said Jace. "They think he knows more than he's telling."

I looked back at the group of three, trying to convey without words how I felt. I felt betrayed, like the Golden Trio in HP and the Prisoner of Azkaban when they found out that Professor Lupin was a werewolf and helping the 'notorious mass-murderer Sirius Black'. So betrayed, in fact, that I was lost for words. Was _Luke_ a werewolf and, worse, did he know the 'notorious mass-murderer Valentine'? I dearly hoped not, for all of our sakes.

"Maybe," Simon said to Jace. "Or maybe they're just reluctant to kill another Shadowhunter or something."

Jace laughed, a harsh sound that mirrored my feelings almost exactly. "I doubt that."

I stared at him, face blank, finding words. "What makes you say that? Do you know them?"

The laughter had gone from his voice entirely when he replied. "Do I know them?" he echoed. "You might say that. Those are the men who murdered my father."


	9. Chapter 9

**THE NEW AND MUCH IMPROVED EFFORT OF THIS CONCEPT (changing _City of Bones_ by Cassandra Clare for the better) IS FINALLY UP. FIND IT ON MY PROFILE AS SIMPLY _City of Bones_. I'VE WORKED LONG AND HARD ON IT AND I HOPE YOU'LL ALL ENJOY IT.**

****Love,  
>I Suffer From Hubris<strong>**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Nine: The Circle and the Brotherhood<strong>

My witty response died in my throat, which felt like it had been coated with ice. I didn't do grief well. I'd never lost anyone, really (who did I have to lose? Jocelyn was my only family), so I wasn't really adept at consoling people. What was I supposed to say to someone who'd just seen his father's killers?

It turned out I didn't have to say anything because Maddie broke the tension by exhaling, "Damn."

"We should go," Jace said quickly, stalking out of the office and into the living room. "We don't know when Luke might come back."

"I think he expects us to follow him," I said to Maddie and Simon quietly. "Come on."

We all left through the back entrance, Jace using his stele to lock up behind us, and made our way out onto the silent street. The moon hung like a locket over the city, casting pearly reflections on the water of the East River. The distant hum of cars going by over the Williamsburg Bridge filled the humid air with a sound vaguely like beating wings. Where was everyone who lived on Luke's street? It was only, like, nine-thirty. What dorks.

Simon said, "Does anyone want to tell me where we're going?"

"Not necessarily, Bitch-Ass," Maddie said as we walked.

"We're going to the L train," Jace said calmly, which didn't match his swift kick of a crack in the sidewalk. Was he all right?

"You've got to be kidding me," Simon said, blinking.

Maddie finished, "Demon slayers take the damn subway?" They were doing their whole twin we-can-read-each-other's-minds thing again. Next, they were going to pull a Hitachiin and creep on me in unison.

"It's faster than driving," said Jace in a detached voice.

"I thought it'd be something cooler," shrugged Maddie.

"Yeah," suggested Simon enthusiastically. "Like a van with 'Death to Demons' painted on the outside, or-"

"-The Mystery Machine, or-"

"-The Batmobile, or-"

"-The Tyra Limo from America's Next Top Model."

"Oh my God, _yes_-"

I was stunned that Jace didn't bother to interrupt, shooting him a sideways look. Sometimes when Jocelyn did her banshee impersonation for me by wailing at how I was just like my father, she'd blink and become eerily calm, and that's how Jace was now. Even I would do the same sometimes, so I was no stranger to the torment and aggravation that he was feeling at the moment. His face was expressionless, but something seemed to burn at the backs of his gold eyes. Desolation.

And, thus, I snapped at the twins, "Will you two just be quiet already?"

"Whose side are you on?" complained Maddie.

I ignored both of them, not able to tear my gaze from Jace for some reason, noting with mild fascination that the lights of the bridge behind us lit his hair into something that resembled a halo. Why couldn't I look away? UGH... Oh, dear Lord.

He caught me staring. I craned my neck in a 360 degree view around me, trying to make it look like I'd been doing a quick sweep of the area, but I don't think he believed me. Judging from the gratified smirk that idiot sent me, that is. I stuck my tongue out at him and shook my head, letting my hair fall in my face.

The annoying part of this was that the men who'd killed Jace's father had presumably taken my mother. Oh, joy. That meant that for now, at least, he'd have to help me find Jocelyn (not that I exactly wanted to with all my heart...). Which, in turn, meant that for now, he couldn't leave me alone. Great.

"You live _here_?" Maddie stood staring up at the old cathedral, with its broken-in windows and doors sealed with yellow police tape.

Simon was right behind her. "It's a _church_."

Jace broke out his stele and scribbled a rune on the door. Somehow, it didn't look quite right, almost like he had messy handwriting. The twins were staring in poorly concealed fascination, so Jace said, "We find it useful to inhabit hallowed ground."

"Why, because of vampires?" I offered. There _were_ always the urban legends that vampires were allergic to holiness or what have you.

He flashed a grin in my direction, which caused Simon to scowl at me. What? What was Simon's problem_ now_? "Partly, yes."

Simon spoke up, not bothering to keep the hostility out of his voice. "I get that, but this place is a dump. Why would you live here?" Maddie wrinkled her nose at the bent iron fence that surrounded the aged building, the trash piled up beside the steps. Lovely. They were in 'rude' mode.

I closed my eyes and willed myself to relax, picturing the layers of glamour fading until all that was left was the real thing. I opened my eyes, smirking at my accomplishment. There it was: the true vision, glowing through the false one like light through sunglasses. I saw the soaring spires of the cathedral, the gleam of the stained-glass windows, the brass plate fixed to the stone wall beside the door on which was etched THE INSTITUTE.

"It's a glamour," I explained in a slightly dreamy voice, almost reminiscent of Luna Lovegood. "It doesn't really look like what you see at all."

"If this is your idea of glamour, I'm reconsidering letting you and Maddie give me a makeover." Even _if_ Simon tried to protest, if Maddie and I decided to give him a makeover, then he was _getting_ that makeover. We had been threatening it for years, especially in his white-pants-only phase that lasted four years.

Jace glanced over his shoulder at the twins. "I'm not sure you two understand the honor I'm doing you. You'll be the first mundanes who've ever been in the Institute."

They said at the same time, "The god-awful smell probably keeps the rest _far away_."

I snorted, and said to Jace, somewhat amused, "I find it easiest to ignore them. Their incessant babble comes out of their mouths no matter what. No filters on language, audacity, inappropriateness... You get used to it, after a while. Fades into the background. Kind of like a slight buzzing noise, almost..."

"Hey!" Maddie and Simon said in wounded voices.

I smiled brightly at them, internally giggling at their reactions. "In fact, that buzzing just came back now and then abruptly left... Oh well."

"I'll show you buzzing noise," Simon murmured darkly, glaring at me. I blinked back. What was that even supposed to mean?

"Um, congratulations?" I said as we made our way up a set of stone stairs, each one carved with a glyph. What struck me as strange was that I... _recognized_ some of them, even though I was 110% sure that I'd never seen them. They tormented me the way half-heard words in a foreign language sometimes tantalized my hearing- as if just by sheer concentration I could wrestle a meaning out of them.

We four reached the fancy-pants elevator and rode up, Maddie pointing things out to Simon on the way in a hushed tone. "_Ooh, look, Simon. Look at-"_ There she muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "_how Jace and Carrie keep staring at each other"_, but I was sure I'd heard wrong. That was ridiculous. I _had_ to have heard wrong.

The elevator came to a screeching stop, and we were in the entryway that I readily remembered.

I felt like making an annoying comment. "Wow, blondie, I'm surprised you didn't make us take the _stairs_."

Jace caught my smirk and snorted, then shrugging off his jacket and the messenger bag and hanging them up on a brass coat rack. He whistled through his teeth, and in a matter of seconds, two streaks of gray appeared, slinking low to the ground.

One of them stopped in front of Maddie and Simon and tilted its head, meowing softly. "Hi, Philip!" Maddie said enthusiastically, petting him as he rubbed up against her legs (Philip was a bit of an attention hog). Next Philip tried the same with Simon, who only patted the lonely kitty on the head.

Philip mewed indignantly and sprung up at me into my arms, nuzzling at my hand until I petted him, cooing, "Did you miss me, Philip?" He purred, which I took for a definite yes. My poor, abandoned, overgrown kitten, all alone with only that bipolar-seeming Church thing for company...

Speaking of Church, Jace kneeled down and stroked the cat's dark gray head. "Where's Alec, Church? Where's Hodge?"

Alec appeared instantly from a doorway. "Did somebody say my name? Oh, hey, Jace." He studied Maddie and Simon for a second. "Wait, you brought more mundies?"

"What?" echoed Maddie and Simon, simultaneously putting their hands on their hips.

Maddie continued, "I am _not_ mundane. If anything, I'm highly entertaining. Probably more than you, damn it."

"They're Carrie's friends," Jace explained to a highly bemused Alec. "Go tell Hodge that we're back and that we have guests."

"Actually, I think I'm going to polish my stele in the weapons room. Church will lead you to where he is. Won't you, Church?" Alec finished in a high-pitched simper of sorts, scratching Church's head. Then Alec went off, and Jace picked up the big cat, stroking its fur.

Church arched his back and meowed, causing the subsequent Jace unit to wrinkle his nose. As much as I _loathed _admitting it to myself, it was kind of endearing. Almost made the prat seem normal. I busied myself with scratching Philip behind the ears, so as not to appear interested in the blonde character. Which I _totally_ wasn't at all...

Jace said very seriously to Church, putting him down on the floor, "Is he in the library?" Church yawned, which was apparently a good sign. Jace stood up and the cat shook himself, starting to trot down the corridor before glancing back at the cat in my arms. Philip sent me what was scarily close to an apologetic look before pouncing onto the floor to join his new BFF. Jace followed the cats as if it were the most normal thing in the world, indicating with a wave of his hand that he expected the twins and me to follow.

I _hated_ following people, and Mr. I-Wrinkle-My-Nose-Because-I-Love-My-Cat was no exception. But still, I had to comfort the twins. If they needed it.

"I don't like cats," Simon said darkly as we maneuvered through the narrow hallway.

"You like Philip," I reminded him, distractedly patting his shoulder.

"Yes, well, _Philip_ doesn't belong to some... some arrogant demon-slayer."

Maddie cut in, saying to Simon as she looped her arm through mine, "You're just in a bad mood because you didn't get to spill your damn secret at Java Jones." What secret? What?

Simon spluttered, taking a couple steps back. "W-w-w-w-what-"

I furrowed my eyebrows, and glanced quizzically at Maddie. "What secret?"

She just smiled, which infuriated me. "Nothing. Bitch-Ass will tell you when the time is right."

_Uggggggh_. What wasn't Simon telling me?

Anyway, he said in a very uppity voice, rejoining us and linking his arm on my other side, "I still dislike cats."

Jace looked back at us for a moment. "It's unlikely," he said, "knowing Church, that he likes you, either." Even I couldn't think of a suitable response to that.

We were passing through one of the corridors that was lined with bedrooms. As Maddie curiously peeked in doorways, Simon's eyebrows rose and he asked, "How many people live here, exactly?"

"According to what _Flavius_," (Roman male name meaning blonde), "here has told me, it's an institute," I said. "Where Shadowhunters from all over can stay if they're passing by. Right, Flavius?" I finished in a chirp.

Jace glanced back again, slightly startled. "Hmm? You talking to me?"

"Yes. Since you've been _obviously_ eavesdropping on our conversation, can you please continue filling in these two frolicking here about the Institute?"

"Fine." Jace fell into step with the rest of us, and explained to the twins with a slight note of condescension, "Carrie forgot to mention that we also dabble in research, so you can think of it as a sort of… _combination_ between a safe haven and a research facility." Again with Jace and the strange metaphors.

"We thought it was a damn church," Maddie said ironically while Jace antisocially went back up ahead with the cats.

I corrected, "It's _inside_ an abandoned church."

"Because that's not confusing _at all_," Simon said, but I could hear how nervous he was underneath that flippant tone of his. Oh, poor Simon! He could use my help.

Hmm. Should I hug him, or would that just embarrass the poor lad? And besides, I wasn't very huggy to begin with... Should I hold his hand? Pull a Benibara (Host Club reference! WEEE!) and trip him until he basically fell into my arms in a strange embrace?

I settled for patting his shoulder again and giving him an encouraging smile. Yes, that would be enough when coupled with an earnest declaration, "I know it's as queer as folk, but it would make all our lives easier if you just went along with it, okay? Trust me." I forced Simon to look into my gray eyes, hoping that he'd get the point.

Simon appeared at a loss for words, so Maddie interjected, "We trust _you_, but we don't trust your pretty, blonde friend. Even if he is pretty."

"He's not my friend-" I started saying, but stopped myself. This was a moot point. So, I exhaled and said, "You don't have to trust him. But he's not going to leave me, and therefore _you two_, alone until we find Jocelyn."

They suddenly shuddered. "Something doesn't feel right," Maddie said, at which Simon nodded.

I remembered how I'd vaguely felt waking up there that morning- as if everything were both foreign and familiar at the same time. For the Lewis twins, clearly, there was nothing of the familiarity. Only the sense of the strange, the alien and inimical.

"You don't have to stay," I said quietly, my eyes on the ground and watching my small hi-tops tearing up the hallway in long strides. I'd actually argued briefly with Jace for the right to keep my best friends with me, since they already knew everything and were probably at risk of danger themselves in the real world. And... they'd been watching the Wolv- er, _Luke_- for awhile. Maybe they knew something the rest of us didn't. Something useful.

The two each hooked an arm around my shoulders and said, "Yes, we do."

Thankfully, they released me once we turned through a hallway and found ourselves just outside a kitchen. It was enormous, and like the rest of the Institute, seemed to belong to a different era. Traditional rose granite counters. Glassed-in shelves holding rows of crockery and china. Open spice cabinet. Black cast-iron stove. And... someone cooking. Pasta, by the looks of it. Ingredients were scattered all across the counters: spaghetti and tomatoes and everything anyone could want.

A feminine shape with semi-long, dark brown hair, dressed in comfortable-looking clothes. Raven?

She carefully carried a pot of water to the stove, obviously starting to make dinner. And, even more, she was singing shockingly well to music that I could barely hear that was blaring from her iPod. "_Germany, Germany, Germany is a really, really, nice place. Even though I'm your prisoner, you give me food and it doesn't suck like English food. Sausages with cheeses always taste so good! It'd be heaven for a dog; yeah, that's Germany. Tell me, how is it you Germans are so robust? You're crushing me with your intimidation. My fragility causes me to openly weep out of fear, your women terrify me…"_

Hetalia? Italy's song to Germany? I decided not to embarrass her further, so I coughed overly-dramatically, signifying all of our presences. She whirled around, scandalized expression on her face.

Raven composed herself, smiled weakly and said, "Sorry. I get bored when I'm cooking."

"Hi," Simon said, waving to her.

"H-hi," she stammered, face going red. Then Raven turned abruptly back around and (for unknown reasons) began frantically stirring the pot of water we'd seen her put on the stove.

"Mundanes, this is Raven. Raven, these are Maddie and Simon. Carrie's friends," Jace said by way of introduction.

"Hello," Raven said, her voice a bit higher than what I was used to. She still wasn't facing us, and was busily stirring the pot. "Nice to meet you both. Any friend of Ca-Carrie's is a friend of mine!" she said, ending in nervous laughter.

Maddie looked at me and raised an eyebrow, and I stared at Simon. He was leaning on the island-of-counters in the middle of the room, and cleared his throat. "I'm Simon."

Pssh. Like Raven would guess he was _Maddie_ and Maddie was Simon. Raven yelped when she stole a glance over her shoulder at Simon and dropped a large wooden spoon, erratically picking it up to resume her stirring.

Why was she so on edge?

And then it hit me, like running into a brick wall head-first.

_Raven liked Simon_.

Just from seeing him.

Oh no, what would happen when she learned that Simon was probably gay? Delays, delays.

"And I'm Raven," she said in the same high voice, coughing after with her back still to us all. Maddie walked up and sat on a stool, which left me awkwardly in the doorway with Jace. Jace turned to me and raised his eyebrows a couple times, so I flipped my hair in his face and joined Maddie on the stools.

"So, do you live here?" Simon asked her.

Raven had now picked up the pot of hot water, but swiftly dropped it when Simon spoke to her. "Oh, _shit_," she cursed hysterically, flying to the ground and trying to mop up the water using her hands. By this point, Maddie was giggling uncontrollably, even though it was obvious that she didn't want to.

Oh, that poor girl, Raven.

"You alright down there?" Maddie asked through her giggles, poking her head over the counter top to better see Raven.

"Just peachy," Raven said wildly, still beating at the spilled hot water on the floor with her palms.

Jace walked up behind me and said, "Rae, you know you can use a newfangled invention called a _towel_ to clean that up, right?" I jumped and sent him a furious glance that all but shrieked, '_Stop creeping on me!'_ But surely enough, the pretentious moron just stood there with an irritating smirk on his face. I felt like smacking him.

Raven hissed at him, her face remaining aflame, and Simon offered in his boy-next-door way, "Hey, d'you need help with that?"

"No," she sighed, giving up and lying down in the puddle. "Ow. Hot." Then she actually curled up into a fetal position on the floor. "You all can make your own dinner. I'm not in the mood! If you're hungry, you can have leftovers."

A voice said from outside the room, "I dunno about you, Rae, but I'm starved." Isabelle cheerily walked into the room, freezing dead when she saw Maddie and Simon. Isabelle said to Jace gaping, "Oh my _God_. You brought two more mundies here? Hodge is going to fucking _murder_ you. At least they're sexy." Simon looked perplexed at being referred to as "sexy".

Maddie glanced at Isabelle and then asked me flatly, "Is this the whore you briefly told me about on the subway just now?"

"Uh-huh," I intoned.

Because now, Isabelle was gazing at Maddie as if seeing light for the first time. She repeated, "Oh my _God_." Isabelle practically galloped over to Maddie and put her hands on my friend's shoulders, leaned in close, whispering in her ear while Maddie cowered to get away, "Hello there. I didn't know mundanes could be as hopelessly _sexy_ as you are, sexy-face. What are you doing later tonight?"

Maddie shrieked, "YEEGH!" and jumped about three feet off her stool, landing on her feet and backing away slowly. "Stay back, ye yonder whore! I'm not interested!"

Isabelle breathed, a passionate expression on her face, "I could _make_ you interested."

Simon was staring, scandalized, at the scene. Raven was still in the hot water on the floor. I looked to Jace, hissing, "Is Isabelle _always_ this creepy?"

Jace smirked, and told me, "_Constantly_." I feared for Maddie's safety.

Isabelle approached Maddie again in a swaying saunter, pulling my best friend close before she could react properly. "Now, how about you and I go straight to second base?"

Maddie brought a fist to Isabelle's head and jerked backwards. "No fucking way in hell, you bitch!"

Isabelle wailed for all of four seconds and then stopped, as if tasered, upon seeing Simon. An evil smile spread across her face, and she did the same whispering-in-ear to Simon. "How are you, you adorable mundie?"

Simon coughed, clearly shocked. His ears turned bright red. "I-I'm fine, thanks."

"You the brother of that sexy-face over there?" Isabelle pointed to Maddie. "You guys look exactly alike, except the fact that you're a boy and she's a girl. But... it's not like I discriminate, if ya know what I mean." Isabelle then winked at Simon, who sputtered.

"U-u-um, yeah. I'm Simon, and that's my twin sister, uh..."

"Maddie," supplied the Maddie in question impatiently.

Next, the back of Simon's neck reddened until it was the shade of his ears. "Right. Maddie. She's my twin. Good ol' Maddie. Maddie my twin. My twin, Maddie." Ugh. Now Simon was rambling?

"Perfect," purred Isabelle, her long-nailed fingers in Simon's short hair. "I like mundanes. What about you? Do you like Shadowhunters, my Simon, cutie-patootie?" Since when was he _her_ Simon? They just met. Not to mention the fact that she had just come on to Maddie and now was shamelessly flirting with Simon. Isabelle had tried flirting with me, too, when I came to the Institute... Wow, she really had no morals.

"Um... I dunno..." said Simon elegantly.

Raven wailed from the floor, "Leave him alone, Isabelle. You don't deserve him." That much was obvious.

I mean, sure, Isabelle was mildly beautiful, I guess- tall, glamorous, et cetera- but she definitely struck me as one of those oddballs who flirted with everyone within a fifty-mile radius. What would result if I just so happened to "accidentally" fling that kitchen knife on a nearby counter at her head?

If Simon was actually straight and had to end up with anyone in this room, I'd choose Raven. Hands down. She was nice, seemed smart, and was quite pretty.

Isabelle huffed and stamped her foot, turning to Jace angrily. "Now. JACE WAYLAND. Explain yourself, sexy-pants!" Her nicknames were already starting to grate on my patience.

Jace sighed, and crossed his arms. "I had to bring them, Belly. Carrie's idea, so blame her."

"Way to throw me under a bus, _Flavius_," I muttered.

Jace continued, "Anyway, today I saw two of the men who killed my father."

Raven empathized from the floor, "Oh, _Jace_-"

Isabelle rudely interrupted her, going up to Simon and trailing her long nails down his chest (even though her eyes were glued on Maddie). "I don't suppose _you're_ one of them. You're too _smexy_, cutie-patootie."

"N-negh," Simon stuttered incomprehensibly, looking like a helpless fish out of water.

I decided to intervene upon seeing Raven's pained expression. "Isabelle, cut it out. You're scaring him."

Isabelle turned her attention to me, then. She sauntered up slowly, and I felt Jace's arm snake protectively along my lower back, so I batted it away with an indignant huff. "Oh," Isabelle said, "so cutie-pie sticks up for her little mundie friend? That's _hawt_."

Jace interrupted, thankfully, before she could say/do anything further. "So, Raven, we're supposed to have reheated _leftovers_ for dinner?" He shared my hatred of all things left over?

"Uh-huh," Raven moaned in an anguished way, still from the puddle of hot water. "I don't feel like cooking anymore. I think I'll just stay here and die."

"Suit yourself," said Jace, striding over to the refrigerator before perusing its contents with a thoughtful, contemplative expression on his face.

I turned my head abruptly, letting my hair fall in front of me. When I cared to look up again, I caught Maddie's knowingly amused stare.

I scowled, but perked up at the sound of my name. "Carrie?" It was Jace. I scowled again.

"What do you want?" I asked from my perch on a stool, seconds away from offering to help Raven.

Meanwhile, Isabelle was trying to come onto a dazed Simon, but caught the expression of a particularly murderous Maddie. Isabelle predictably made some lame excuse and left the room. Simon shook his head, seemingly gathering his bearings, and then went over to Raven to offer some help, Maddie in tow.

Jace said in response to my question, "Do you want anything to eat?"

It was such a… normal question. It was somewhat comical, compared to the usual subjects of recent conversations. "I don't know. What do you have?" I joined him at the refrigerator, and saw quite an array of food, everything from fruit to expired milk cartons to curious plastic Tupperware containers that were labeled, "HODGE'S. DO NOT EAT," in red ink on top of masking tape.

"Hodge seems like a real charmer," I commented offhandedly.

Jace grinned briefly. "He just likes things in order." As he dug through the multitude of food to get at something in the back of the fridge, he commented, "Although I've never seen him act as skittish as he's been lately. At least… not since _I_ came here, that is."

I suggested, "Maybe he just has a problem with new people."

"Maybe." After unearthing a container of what appeared to be spaghetti, he turned to me. "What do you eat?"

I shrugged vaguely, peering curiously into the fridge. "What else is there?"

"More spaghetti, if you want. Raven makes it _all the time_, so we have lots left over. Also… half-rotten lettuce… alfalfa sprouts… pre-packaged meat… ketchup…"

"Spaghetti's fine, thanks."

Jace grabbed another container and began to reheat them in a microwave, so I meandered over to Simon, Raven, and Maddie.

Raven was on her feet, dripping water and looking bashful while Simon was on the floor, scrubbing up the water from the floor with a towel and Maddie was coaching him. "Come on, Bitch-Ass, work harder."

"I _am_ working hard!" he protested, wiping the floor fretfully.

Raven said, drying herself off with another towel, "Are you sure you don't need my help?"

Simon smiled up at her, and I practically saw her heart melt. "No, I'm alright, but thanks for asking." Then he went back to attacking the tiles, which were still stubbornly wet, by the looks of them.

"How's everything over here?" I asked, sitting on top of the counter island to better view them.

"Swimmingly," Simon said, and I was sure he intended the pun (since he was practically _swimming_ in the water he was supposed to be cleaning, har, har).

"Hurry up, Bitch-Ass, we don't have all night."

Simon snapped, "I'm _working on it_, woman!"

Raven repeated to him, "Are you _sure_ you don't need my help?"

He sent her another nice-guy smile. "Yeah, I'm sure, but thanks for asking. Raven, right?"

Simon was acting even more bipolar than usual. I wasn't sure whether it was a good sign or not.

One dinner later, Raven decided to take the twins on a tour of the Institute, which unfortunately left me alone with Jace. I felt… impatient.

"Are you going to find Hodge and tell him everything any time soon?" I half-complained, ill at ease because of the way Jace was staring at me from the next stool over, even though we had both been done with our spaghetti for a few minutes.

"You seem awfully eager to get out of here," he said with a lazy smirk.

I crossed my arms. "Well…?"

"Well, what?" He was still looking at me…

I repressed the urge to hit him. "Are we going to see Hodge or not?"

"I haven't decided yet." Why was he stalling?

"Going to lead me on another hour-long walk, are you?" I said in a slightly mocking tone.

"No, actually, I was planning on more of a two-hour stroll-"

I cut him off with a reproachful look. It was funny; I barely knew him, but there was some weird connection… "_Jace_."

He stood up from his stool. "Point taken. Let's go."

As I made my way out of the kitchen, I stopped to pick up Philip, who was mewing insistently at my ankles. I hefted the kitty so that his front paws were on my shoulder, and then I joined Jace in the hall, Church at his heels.

Jace was twirling a seraph blade between his fingers, but stuffed it in a pocket when he saw my approach. "Your mundane friends put on a fascinating display."

"I think the 'display' part was more of Isabelle's fault, actually," I said, forgetting the fact that she would automatically appear.

"That's arguable. Belly's always like that, giving people sexual nicknames and flirting shamelessly. I'd say it was more your _mundanes_' faults, overreacting like that. Specifically, the questionably male one. What's-his-name. Jimmy."

"_Simon_," I corrected, surprised almost to the point of laughing. "Where did you get _Jimmy_ from?"

Isabelle interrupted me mid-'Jimmy'. "Did somebody say my name?"

"Goodbye, Belly," Jace said with finality.

"Fine. Have it _your_ way," she sniffed melodramatically, flouncing off.

Jace took the opportunity to speak to his cat. He scratched Church's head, forcing the Persian to look into his eyes. "Now, where's Hodge? Really, Church, or I'll put you on a leash." Church meowed, which apparently meant that he understood the terms of the agreement, trotting off ahead of Jace.

I petted Philip before letting him down so that he could frolic with Church, which made me a few paces behind Jace. I could tell that he was still extremely stressed from our encounter of sorts with his father's murderers, just from the tension in his shoulders and the way he held himself.

"Jace."

He stopped walking, and waited for me to catch up for a moment, studying my face. "What?"

"Thanks for the spaghetti," I said. "And the scintillating conversation."

He laughed slightly, more of a chuckle. "Any time. You're not too bad of a conversationalist, yourself."

"_Gratias tibi ago, Flavii_," I said in Latin without hesitation. _Thank you, blondie_.

"There's just something about you that's so-"

"Tremendous?" I offered with a grin.

"Fascinating."

I wasn't sure how to take that. Fearing what he'd possibly say next, I shifted gears. "Does Raven always make dinner?"

"Yes, thank the Angel. It's a known fact that Lightwoods can't cook, even ones that married into the family, like Maryse. She's Al- the _Lightwoods'_ mother."

"She sounds French," I said. Well, it was true. It wasn't every day you came across someone named Mah-_reez_.

"She _is_ French, extremely so. Despite that, her cooking leaves much to be desired. Thankfully, Raven's a fantastic cook. She's kind of like the _real_ mother of the family."

I had subtly noticed that, but just assumed it was because the Lightwood parents were away. "Really? Why?"

Jace hesitated slightly. We were passing bedrooms and I feared we were going in circles again, but Church was steadily leading the way. And for whatever reason, I trusted that cat. "Because. It's nothing against Maryse or Robert, but neither of them is particularly parental. Raven was adopted into the family a year before me- she's also a year older- so I guess she's taken on the dual roles of 'older sister' and 'mother' for all of us."

"That's really nice of her," I said honestly, warming up to her even more.

"Yeah. It's unfortunate that she doesn't enjoy Shadowhunting as much as she loves cooking."

Church suddenly picked up to a loping run and then stopped, yowling, in front of a metal spiral staircase (like the staircase that led up to Dumbledore's office) that was framed from above by hazy half-light. Philip flopped down next to him.

"So Hodge is in the greenhouse," Jace said. "No surprise there."

"Greenhouse?" I inquired curiously.

Jace gestured for me to begin my ascent into the heavens via the staircase to the greenhouse. I took the railing and carefully went up, Jace following me closely. Another new habit? "Hodge likes it up here. He grows medicinal plants, things we can use, and so on. Most of them only grow in Idris. I think it reminds him of home."

I thought of our unfinished conversation about Raven. "Do you think that Raven would be a good Shadowhunter if she _did_ enjoy it?"

"I assume so, at least. Bel- Lightwood Girl is all right, but she's mainly used for bait, which she's fantastic at. Lightwood Boy is a bit trickier."

"Why so?" It was kind of funny, the lengths to which Jace went to prevent the Lightwoods from randomly showing up.

"He's got the skills, but he's never killed a demon before. Probably because he's too busy trying to keep me out of trouble." We had reached the top of the stairs. A set of double doors greeted us, carved with patterns of leaves and vines. Before opening them, Jace turned to me. "Bear in mind that most of Idris is located in the Alps, so it's going to be chilly in here."

I pulled my sweatshirt sleeves up to my fingers, and put my hands in front of my face. "Got you covered." I shook my mane out. "And besides, I carry this… convenient blanket with me everywhere. I'll be fine." Even so, it was a nice sentiment that he warned me. I found my mouth's corners twitch upward of their own accord, and I didn't have enough time to screw my face up into a grimace.

Jace opened the door, and the first thing that hit me was the chill, a bit nippy but not too bad. Then came the smell, a crisp, clean smell, the smell of winter. I hadn't expected the greenhouse to be very big, but this place was enormous. The ceiling was a typical glass dome and the walls were also glass, and through both I could see the nearby spires of the tallest parts of the Institute. Trees lined the walls, thickly needled like evergreens but draped with fruits in shades of lavender, periwinkle, and pale light blue. The bushes hung with glossy berries, burgundy and fuchsia and black, and every plant I saw, wherever I looked, was something I'd never seen before.

I exhaled slowly, taking it all in. "It smells like winter." It was refreshing, considering that outside the glass bubble, it was a sweltering summer evening. I had always loved winter, the crisp smell of freezing air and the gleaming snow. It actually made New York look _clean_.

"Or home, to me," Jace said. He moved a hanging frond from a tree out of the way so that I could pass through comfortably, which was nice. I walked through, and wondered even more at the spectacle before me.

The greenhouse didn't _seem_ to be laid out in a pattern, at least, not one I could detect. Everywhere I turned, I saw color: frosty-looking indigo blossoms spilling down the side of an emerald hedge, a bright viridian vine studded with jewel-like silver buds. I saw a door leading into another room like this one.

I gestured to it. "Why is that room separated?"

Jace answered, "That's where the medicinal plants are kept. But everyone prefers it in here."

We emerged into a cleared space, a low marble bench resting against the trunk of a drooping tree with bottle green needles. Water glittered in a matching marble fountain, carved into the shape of a male angel. Raziel!

Hodge was sitting on the bench, his black bird perched on his shoulder. He had been staring in a scholarly way down at the water, but at our approach, turned his eyes to the sky- or, rather, the glass dome.

"Waiting for something?" Jace observed, creeping up from behind me and twisting some of my long hair between his fingers. I smacked his hand away, annoyed at his stupid, little, newfound, touchy-feely habits.

"I just found myself to be lost in thought," Hodge said with a wan smile for us, although his eye twitched when he saw me. He rose from the bench, smile fading as he looked more closely. "What happened? You look as if-"

"We were attacked," Jace said shortly. "Forsaken."

"Forsaken warriors? Here?" Somehow, Hodge didn't sound surprised. Was this normal?

"Warrior," corrected Jace. "We only saw one."

I added, "But we were tipped off by a phony fortune-teller, Madame Dorothea, that there were more."

"Fortune-teller?" Hodge held up a trembling hand. "This would be easier if you took events in order."

"Right." Jace gave me a look and then plowed into an all-inclusive recitation of the day's events, save the fact that we saw the men who had killed his father. "Carrie's mother's friend- or whatever he is, really- goes by the name Luke Garroway," Jace finished finally. "But while we were at his house, the two men who claimed they were emissaries of Valentine referred to him as Lucian Graymark."

Hodge flinched predictably at the mention of Valentine, but a strange light came in his eyes at Luke's 'real' name, or whatever. "And their names were…"

"Pangborn," said Jace. "And Fablehaven." I couldn't resist a quick snort at how ridiculous and anticlimactic that sounded.

Hodge's face lit up, with a somewhat alarming fire to it. "You say Lucy- I mean, Lucian? Lucian Graymark?" He turned to me, a guarded look in his eyes. "And your mother's name is Jocelyn, you say?"

"Yes," I said uncertainly, not sure where he was going with any of this.

"The Circle is rising again," he muttered, and then raised his voice. "Everything finally makes _sense!_"

Jace and I exchanged a frightened look. Had Hodge fallen off his rocker? He was acting so strangely that he could have been that Clary-thing.

His scar stood out against his gray skin like a twist of red wire. He was shaking his head and clapping his hands frantically as he stamped his feet on the ground. He finally calmed himself down enough to wipe tears from his eyes and stop dancing creepily like he had been doing. "All right. Come with me, children," he said. "It's time I showed you both something."

The gas lamps were lit in the library, and the polished oak surfaces of the furniture smoldered like hot coals. Streaked with shadows, the pained faces of the angels supporting the enormous desk looked even _more_ pained. I sat down on the red couch, legs crossed, and Jace settled on its arm. Did he like sitting on top of things, or something? He always seemed to be sitting on arms of chairs and couches instead of sitting _in_ them.

"Hodge," he was saying, "if you need help looking-"

"Not at all, my boy, not at all," said Hodge, the manic tone still in his voice. He came out from behind the desk, brushing dust from the knees of his fancy trousers. "I've found it."

He was carrying a large book bound in brown leather, a very fancy sort of book. He paged through it with an anxious finger, humming a strange, chipper tune to himself as he did so. "Ah, here it is!" He cleared his throat and read aloud, "_I hereby render unconditional obedience to the Circle and its principles… I will be ready to risk my life at any time for the Circle, in order to preserve the purity of the bloodlines of Idris, and for the mortal world with whose safety we are charged_."

Jace made a face, and so did I, I'll admit. It reminded me of an extreme version of the Pledge of Allegiance mixed with Lord Voldemort's 'Up with Purebloods' movement. Jace asked, grimacing, "What was that from?"

"It was the loyalty oath of the Circle of Raziel, just a bit under twenty years ago," said Hodge, sounding strangely animated.

"Sounds creepy," I said. "Did it belong to a secret intelligence organization, or a cult?" It had to be one of the two.

"A mixture of both, actually," said Hodge, putting the book down. "They were a group of Shadowhunters, led by Val-Valentine, dedicated to wiping out all Downworlders and returning the world to a 'purer' state. Their plan was," his voice began to sound strained, as if it were a well-rehearsed lie, "to wait for the Downworlders to arrive in Idris to sign the Accords. Approximately every fifteen years, they must be signed again, to keep the sentiments potent," he added for my benefit. I gave him a thumbs-up, and he flinched. "Then, they planned to slaughter them all, unarmed and defenseless. This terrible act, they thought, would spark off a war between humans and Downworlders- one they intended to win."

"That was the Uprising," said Jace in realization. "I didn't know Valentine," Hodge flinched, "and his followers had a name."

"The name isn't often spoken nowadays," said Hodge. "Their existence remains an embarrassment to the Clave. Most documents pertaining to them have been destroyed."

I grew suspicious. "Then why do you have a copy of that oath?"

Hodge hesitated for a moment. "Because I helped write it," he confessed at last.

Jace's brow furrowed violently, and he almost fell off his perch. "You were in the Circle?"

"I was. Many of us were." Hodge was looking straight ahead, but his pale eyes were unfocused. "Both of Carrie's parents as well."

I heard my pulse thrumming in my ears. "_What?!_"

"I said-" Hodge started weakly.

My voice easily overpowered his. "I _know what you said_! Are you _crazy_? My mother is an idiot and my father is a dead mundane! Who would let Jocelyn into some stupid little cult?"

"It wasn't-" Jace started, but cut off once he saw Hodge's colorless, terrified face. I was too worked up to even care about Hodge.

"I assume that she had no choice in the matter," said Hodge as if the words were painful.

"_What_?" I repeated.

"Because," Hodge said at long last. "She was Valentine's wife." As if _that_ wasn't enough of a bombshell, he tacked on, "And I assume _you_ are his daughter."


	10. Chapter 10

**THE NEW AND MUCH IMPROVED EFFORT OF THIS CONCEPT (changing _City of Bones_ by Cassandra Clare for the better) IS FINALLY UP. FIND IT ON MY PROFILE AS SIMPLY _City of Bones_. I'VE WORKED LONG AND HARD ON IT AND I HOPE YOU'LL ALL ENJOY IT.**

****Love,  
>I Suffer From Hubris<strong>**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Ten: City of Bones<strong>

Jace and I were dumbstruck for all of a few seconds, and then words starting pouring out of our mouths at the same time.

"How the Hades would _you_ know who my father is, Hodge?" I was demanding.

"Valentine had a wife? He was _married with children?_ How is Carrie-" Jace was inquiring.

Hodge cowered for a few seconds, wringing his hands, and then said weakly, "Children-"

I snarled at the man, "Don't talk down to me." He jumped backwards, fear quite obvious in his expression. Well, good. Served him right. "And besides, I don't care what you have to say."

What he was suggesting was, to put it nicely, ridiculous. He was essentially saying that I was the daughter of a crazy, evil villain-type that stupid Jocelyn, _my stupid Jocelyn_, had been married to.

"C-Carrie," stammered Hodge, still wringing his hands fretfully. The terror in his voice made me want to laugh evilly. Maybe he was right after all… Maybe I _was_ the daughter of an evil mastermind…

I very deliberately locked my gaze on that of Hodge, and narrowed my eyes to make sure he wasn't lying. Although he was scared beyond all reason, I could see that he was telling the truth, or, at least, that he _thought_ he was.

I considered it. It was ludicrous, that was certain, but it _would_ explain a lot, e.g. Jocelyn constantly claiming that I was 'just like' my 'horrible father'. Even so, I was _no_ Voldemort-spawn. Or… was I?

Thinking of Jocelyn and Hodge knowing each other was even more implausible. Hodge was old looking and scarred, manic and frightened. To consider the fact that he and my _mother_ were the same age…

Had been friends, probably… Been in the Circle, known Valentine… Valentine, my supposed father…

But what about Jocelyn's story, the tale of Jonathan Clark? The car crash before I was born? The lack of wedding pictures, of anything… A lie? Would Jocelyn do that to me, lie for nearly sixteen years?

And what about the block on my mind that Overkill and Jace were sure I had? Did it play into this?

"I don't think _anyone_ would want to marry Jocelyn," I said at last, at a loss for anything else _to_ say.

Hodge looked grim, and set his mouth in a line. "V-V-Valentine was smitten," he said with some resentment. Wait. Why would _Hodge_ be resentful? Had _he_ been in love with Valentine, too?

I threw another question at him, crossing my arms and raising an eyebrow. "And why would anyone _let_ her join the Circle? She's an idiot."

I had always acknowledged her as an idiot, but now she was practically a stranger, a Shadowhunter with a villain for an ex-husband. A liar, too. I hated liars.

"As I said, V-Valentine was smitten. And don't you worry, your mother left the Circle." Hodge was looking at me guardedly, as if worried I might jump off the couch and throttle him. "Once we realized how extreme Val-Valentine's views had become- once we knew what he was prepared to do- many of us left. Lucian was the first to leave. That was a blow to Valen-Valentine. They had been… very close." What did he mean by 'very close'? "Then Michael Wayland. Your father, Jace."

I had almost forgotten that Jace was in the room, next to me on the arm of the couch on which I was sitting. He was watching Hodge with a surprised yet almost predatory look, and then raised his eyebrows. He said nothing, a first for him.

"There… were those who stayed loyal," Hodge continued. "Pangborn. Fablehaven. The Lightwoods-"

"The _Lightwoods?_" Jace echoed furiously. "You mean Maryse and Robert? What about you? When did _you_ leave?"

"I didn't," Hodge said, with a resigned finality. "Neither did they… We were afraid, too afraid of what he might do. After the Uprising, the loyalists like Fablehaven and Pangborn fled. We stayed and cooperated with the Clave, gave them names. Helped them track down the ones who had run away. For that, we received clemency." He wasn't looking at me, anymore; it seemed like he was doing quite the opposite, alternating between views of Jace and the floor.

"Clemency?" Jace said immediately. I pitied him. It surely wouldn't be easy to learn that your beloved tutor had been part of a Death Eater-like rebellion.

"You are thinking of the curse that binds me here, aren't you? You always assumed it was a vengeance spell cast by an angry demon or warlock. I let you think it. But it is not the truth. The curse that binds me here was cast by the Clave." Even though I disliked Hodge, I was starting to dislike the Clave even more. They didn't seem very nice, after all.

"For what?" I drawled lazily, a hint of mocking creeping into my mellifluous voice. "Being in the Circle?" I was unintentionally masking my torrential emotions with arrogance. What was coming over me?

"No," Hodge said gravely, with a note of petulance. "For not leaving before the Uprising."

"But what about the Lightwoods?" I continued on, over-pronouncing my words even more than usual. "Why weren't they punished as severely as _you_?"

"There were- were extenuating circumstances in their case- they were married, they had a child. Although it is not as if they reside in this outpost, far from home, by their own choice. We were banished here, the three of us; rather, the four of us- Alec was a squalling one-year-old when we left. They can return to Idris on official business only, and then only for short times. I can never return. I will never see the Glass City again."

I was confused, and voiced it with my usual derisive comment. "Yes, because that makes _perfect_ sense. Banish the rebels as far away as possible and have them uphold the law in Institutes where they can get up to whatever they want, as long as it isn't in the home country."

"You don't understand," Hodge practically pleaded, "what Idris is like. It is madness, never being allowed to return."

I glanced at Jace- he was awfully ashen. I remembered, then, that he had grown up in Idris and hadn't been there for seven years. "The Law is hard, but it is the Law."

"I taught you that," sighed Hodge. "And now you turn my lessons back at me. Rightly, I suppose." He looked like he wanted to disappear, out of the way of my burning stare.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I demanded exhaustedly, after a poignant pause. "That Jocelyn was married to a super-villain. That Valentine is my father. That my life _is a lie_. Why? Why, Hodge?"

Hodge fidgeted, and then sighed again. "I knew your mother as Jocelyn Fairchild, not as Jocelyn Fray. And you were so insistent on her idiocy, you convinced me it could not be the Jocelyn I knew- and perhaps I did not want to believe it. No one would wish for Valentine's return." He broke off, and said reluctantly, looking right at me, "But I knew who you had to be from the moment I saw you."

I recalled his scream. "Why." I didn't make it a question, rather a demand.

"You look… just like Valentine," Hodge said, barely a whisper. For once, he pronounced the name without a stutter, surveying my face woefully. "I knew you had to be his daughter. But your mother… I was not sure. I had no idea how the pieces of the puzzle fit together, until now."

"Thus your… display," said Jace to Hodge, obviously referring to the creepy little dance. Jace was handling himself extremely well. Hades, _I_ was handling _myself_ extremely well.

Hodge nodded austerely. "When I sent for the Brothers of the Bone City this morning, I had no idea what news we would have for them. When the Clave finds out that Va-Valentine may have returned, that he is seeking the Cup, there will be an uproar. I can only hope it does not upset the Accords."

"I bet your Valentine would like that," Jace said with dark humor. "But why does he want the Cup so badly?" His golden eyes turned to me sadly, looking me over. Searching for answers, on how I could possibly be the daughter of a mass-murderer.

I didn't even have the answer, myself. I stared back at him, painfully. He didn't realize what it meant for _me_, that I had half the genetics of that Valentine. His hand reached for mine, squeezing it to show that he _did_ understand, or at least that he was trying. I was too upset to yank my hand back, opting instead to simply let my hair fall in my face as I looked down at the stone, colorful floor.

Hodge missed all of that, and gave a response to Jace's spoken question. I glanced up in surprise. "Isn't it obvious? He wants to build himself an army."

Jace was startled. "But that would never-"

"Sorry that took so long. Did somebody say my name?" It was Alec, framed in the door of the library. His hair was ruffled, and he was wearing blue flannel pajamas. He yawned, and it was obvious that he had just woken up, thus why his arrival had been delayed five minutes. Strange, those Lightwoods. "Oh, am I interrupting? Sorry. I'll go back to sleep…"

"Don't be silly, Alec," I said with a charming smile, finally wrenching my hand from Jace's grip. "We were just finishing up our conversation."

"Oh. Alright." Alec yawned again.

Hodge found his voice, although his skin was still grayer than usual. "Off you go, children, time for bed-"

"-And _this_ is the library," Raven said to Maddie and Simon, who all followed Alec through the doorway. "Hi, Hodge. Carrie. Jace. Alec." I felt like face-palming because of the ridiculous timing.

I settled on waving to them; Jace gave a halfhearted salute.

Hodge sounded irritated. "Why are you children all awake, still? It's getting late. Time for sleep."

"Awwww," complained Maddie and Simon. "Raven promised us ice cream when we're done with the tour."

"Fine, fine. Ice cream. Then sleep," Hodge relented.

Thus, we all meandered down to the kitchen for an ice cream party. Joy.

The kitchen was warm and full of light, but even that couldn't put to rest my unquiet mind. The smell of vanilla ice cream hung in the air, reminding me of the times when Maddie, Simon, and I would eat our weight in the stuff while watching The Little Mermaid without Jocelyn's permission.

"Well, _I_ think it's totes sexy," said Isabelle, although none of us wanted her opinion on anything. She had been accidentally summoned by Simon when he mentioned her on our way to the kitchen, and had zealously joined us in our ice cream party.

"What is?" asked Alec, his face screwed up into a grimace, unclear whether it was from his sister's idiotic comment or the freezing ice cream.

"The whole business about Carrie's father being a smexy villain like Valentine. At least… I _assume_ he's sexy because Hodge said he looks just like cutie pie here, right?" I resented her nickname for me. Jace and Hodge had filled everyone in while the ice cream was being prepared, and now we were all munching on the stuff. I still noted that they had neglected to tell the part about the Lightwoods having been in the Circle, and the fact that the Clave cursed them. "So now he's back from the dead and looking for his ex-wife." Isabelle's face suddenly lit up. "Maybe he wants to get back together!"

"I kind of doubt that he sent a Ravener demon to her house because he wants to 'get back together,'" said Raven, thoughtfully chomping on a spoonful of vanilla ice cream.

"It wouldn't be my move," Jace agreed with an arrogant smirk. "First the candy and flowers, then the apology letters, _then_ the rapacious demon hordes. In that order."

I stabbed at my bowl using my spoon, pretending that I was stabbing Jocelyn's face.

"He might have sent her candy and flowers," Isabelle argued. "For all we know."

Maddie and Simon rolled their eyes, which dissolved into Maddie looking concernedly at me. She knew that I was upset, even though I didn't want her to.

"Isabelle," said Hodge patiently, "this is the man who rained down destruction on Idris the likes of which it had never seen, who set Shadowhunter against Downworlder and made the streets of the Glass City run with blood."

Yeah, my father. Great.

I took another three jabs at my ice cream. Stupid, stupid, stupid Jocelyn…

"But it's hawt," Isabelle pressed. "That evil thing. Totes." She turned to Maddie. "Can _you_ be evil for me, sexy-face?"

Maddie, in response, indignantly spit ice cream in the creeper's face.

Isabelle replied to that with, "That was so _hawt_. Do it again."

In retaliation, Maddie picked up the used spoon from Simon's bowl and threw it at Isabelle's head.

Simon asked Hodge through a mouthful of dessert, stealing Maddie's spoon, "So, why does Valentine want this Cup so badly, and why does he think Carrie's mom has it?"

I turned to Hodge, feeling dead. "You said that he wanted to make an army. Can you use the Cup to make Shadowhunters, or something?"

Hodge nodded slowly. "I am afraid so." I took another stab at my unfortunate ice cream, and shoveled some into my mouth.

Maddie let that sink in. "So, let me get this straight. This Valentine guy could walk up to any bitch on the street and make a _Shadowhunter_ out of her? Just by using the God-damn Cup?"

Simon added curiously, "Like, could it work on Maddie and me?"

Hodge gave them a long, grim look. "Possibly," he said in a strained way, while I had another bite of vanilla ice cream. "However, you're most likely too old. The Cup works on children. An adult would either be unaffected by the process entirely, or be killed outright."

Raven said softly, "A child army…"

"Only for a few years," pointed out Jace. "Kids grow fast. It wouldn't be too long before they were a force to contend with."

"It's absurd," I dismissed, stabbing at my ice cream. "I don't see why he would hate Downworlders so much that he would want to annihilate them." And why he would wait several years for children to grow up, not to mention that he would have to extensively train them. Now, annihilating the Clave would be a different story.

My ice cream was starting to melt. I took a bite, and waited for someone to comment. Hodge was looking alarmed, as usual, and everyone else was chewing thoughtfully on his or her ice cream.

"That's a good point," noticed Raven.

Hodge said very quickly, "Valent-Valentine was insane. That is the only argument for any of this."

"But I don't know," said Simon. "Turning a bunch of kids into warriors, I've heard of worse stuff happening."

"Yeah," Maddie agreed. "I don't see why we have to keep the damn Cup away from him."

Hodge pursed his thin lips, and choked out an awkward-sounding monologue, like they weren't his words. "Leaving out that he would inevitably use this army to launch an attack on the Clave, the reason that only a few humans are selected to be turned into Nephilim is that most would never survive the transition. It takes special strength and resilience. Before they can be turned, they must be extensively tested- but Val-Valentine would never bother with that. He would use the Cup on any child he could capture, and cull out the twenty percent who survived to be his army."

Alec, like the rest of us, was horrorstruck. It didn't stop him from asking a stupid question. "How do you know he'd do that?"

"Isn't it obvious?" I said dully. "He probably told his precious Circle everything." It was what I would have done, and he was apparently an insane version of me.

"Exactly," Hodge quavered, a forced tone in his voice. "When he was the leader of the Circle, that was his plan. He said it was the only way to build the kind of force that was needed to defend our world."

"But that's murder," protested Raven, looking scandalized. "He was talking about killing children."

Alec turned to his sister, and said with dark humor, "Still think being evil is sexy?"

Isabelle said, "Of _course_ I do, sweet-thing. This is just, like, a setback. It's nothing that serious therapy can't solve, right?"

Hodge went on, still strained, "He said that we had made the world safe for humans for a thousand years, and now was their time to repay us with their own sacrifice."

This guy, this _Valentine_ was supposed to be my father? I ate another spoonful of ice cream, and stabbed at the rest.

"Their _children_?" demanded Jace, clenching his teeth. "That goes against everything we're supposed to be about! Protecting the helpless, safeguarding humanity-"

Hodge pushed his empty bowl away from himself. "_Va-Valentine was insane_. Brilliant, but insane." His voice had abruptly sounded normal, but went back to being unnatural. "He cared about nothing but killing demons and Downworlders. Nothing but making the world pure. He would have sacrificed his own son for the cause and could not understand how anyone else would not."

"He had a son?" asked Alec, brow furrowed. I had a brother?

Hodge laughed once, a nervous titter. "I was-was speaking figuratively." I noticed that his hands were trembling violently. "When his land burned, his home destroyed, it was assumed that he had burned himself and the Cup to ashes rather than relinquish either to the Clave. His bones were found in the ashes, along with the bones of his wife."

I seized the opportunity to point out the obvious. "But Jocelyn lived. He must have burned two other poor ingrates."

I felt empty, hollow. I caught Jace studying me with a worried expression, and then found that everyone else was doing the same. I slammed my three-quarter-eaten ice cream into the center of the counter, next to Hodge's empty bowl, and then sat back in my stool, crossing my arms. I didn't _want_ anybody's sympathy. I was _fine_.

"It appears so," Hodge said somberly. "The Clave will not be pleased to have been fooled. But more importantly, they will want to secure the Cup. And even more importantly than that, they will want to make sure V-Valentine does not."

"Well, I think we should make finding Carrie's mother a priority," said Jace. "Find her, find the Cup, get it before Valentine does."

He was leaning forward, probably excited to be planning how to directly combat forces of evil. 'Evil forces' meaning my long-lost father, of course.

The others were nodding and looking satisfied with Jace's proposal.

Hodge was immediately startled. "Absolutely _not_."

Shouts of, "What?", "You're crazy!", "What do you _mean_?", and "Are you fucking _insane_?" filtered through the air from the mouths of everyone except Hodge, all of us talking in unison.

Hodge said delicately, "All this is best left to skilled, experienced Shadowhunters."

"I _am _skilled," Jace protested sinisterly. "I _am _experienced."

I felt empty, like everything was passing by in a blur.

Hodge's tone was shaky. "I know that you are, but you're still a child, or nearly one."

Oh. Bad move, Hodge. Maddie and Simon said, "Oooooooh," until I sent them a look, cutting them off.

Jace studied Hodge through slit eyes, lashes casting shadows down over his angular cheekbones. "I am _not_ a child."

Alec interrupted, obviously worried for his friend. "Hodge is right, Jace," he said tentatively, looking concerned. "Valentine is dangerous. I know you're a great Shadowhunter. You're probably a lot better than most adults. But Valentine's one of the best there ever _was_. It took a huge battle to bring him down."

Raven added, just as troubled as Alec, "And he didn't exactly _stay_ down, apparently."

"But we're here," objected Jace. "We're here and because of the Accords, nobody else is. If we don't do something-"

"We _are_ going to do something," Hodge interrupted. "I'll send the Clave a message tonight. They could have a force of Nephilim here by tomorrow if they wanted. They'll take care of this. You have done more than enough."

"But what about Jocelyn?" I demanded in a dead voice, causing everyone's alarm to transfer to me. I suddenly, desperately wanted to talk to the woman, wrestle the truth from her. Especially about Valentine. "We don't have time to wait for a stupid Clave squadron. My… my _father_ has her right now- Pangborn and Fablehaven said so. Who knows what he's doing?" It was downright weird referring to Valentine as my father. I had always been taught that my father was dead, had died before I was born.

Simon tried to cheer me up. "But hey, didn't they also say that she was unconscious? He's probably waiting for her to wake up."

"Who knows when that will be?" I emphasized, trying to incite action, having snapped out of my reverie. "Can't we just _go_ already? I thought Shadowhunters were sworn to protect people," I finished accusingly.

"It would be easier," said Alec, "if we had the faintest idea where to look."

"But we do," said Jace, "don't we?"

"What?" I looked at him, startled and mildly eager. "Where?"

"In here," Jace said with a smile, leaning to reach me and putting his fingers against the side of my temple, so inexplicably gently that a blush rose in my cheeks of its own accord. "Everything we need to know is locked up in your head, under these pretty light brown curls."

I jerked out of his grip, turning my face away from everyone. "That was _hardly necessary_."

"_I_ thought it was sweet, cutie-pie," Isabelle said unhelpfully.

Simon sounded peeved. "So what are you going to do, then? Cut open her head to retrieve your beloved information?"

"Simon," Maddie chastised, "stop being such a damn idiot."

"I am _not_ being an idiot! _You_ stop bullying me!"

"I am _not_ bullying you! It's part of your training!"

"_What_ training?"

"_Your_ training!"

Jace was speaking over their banter to Hodge while I face-palmed. "Can't the Silent Brothers retrieve her memories?"

The twins stopped, and asked, "Who the hell are the Silent Brothers?"

I turned back to face the group, my blush probably faded. "I think Jace said they were archivists."

Hodge was audibly running out of patience. "The Silent Brothers _are_ archivists, but that is not all they are. In order to strengthen their minds, they have chosen to take upon themselves some of the most powerful runes ever created. The power of these runes is so great that the use of them… Well, they warp and twist their physical forms. They are not warriors in the sense that all other Shadowhunters are warriors. Their powers are of the mind, not the body."

I was intrigued. "Can they read minds?"

"Yes," Hodge said, not looking at me as usual. "Among other things. They are among the most feared of all demon hunters."

Isabelle offered her unwanted opinion, also as usual. "They're _totes_ creepy. Not sexy _at all_."

"They are very powerful," said Hodge, hands clenched on the counter. "They walk in darkness and do not speak, but they can crack open a man's mind and leave him screaming in the dark if that is what they desire."

I looked to Jace, raising an eyebrow. "And you want to give me to _them_, you say?"

"I want them to _help_ you," corrected Jace. He leaned close to me, so closely that I could see the dark flecks of amber in his eyes. "Maybe we don't get to look for the Cup; maybe the Clave will do that. But what's in your mind belongs to _you_. Someone's hidden secrets there. Things even _you_ don't know. Don't you want to know the truth about your own life?"

I felt abruptly overheated. "Yes, but… I don't know."

"I'll go with you," he continued, reaching for my hand and grabbing it. "I'll stay with you while they do it."

"That's enough!" Simon suddenly yelled, stomping over and yanking me away from Jace, pulling me back to sit near himself and Maddie. "You leave her _alone!_"

"I'm fine, Simon," I grumbled, remaining flushed for whatever reason.

Alec glanced over at Simon as if he'd just realized that he existed. "What are the mundanes still doing here?"

Simon ignored him, appealing to Maddie for help. "Help me, here!"

Maddie shrugged. "I don't know, Bitch-Ass, I think you're doing pretty well on your own."

Her twin snorted, and then brandished his arm at Jace. "Either way, _stay away from Carrie!"_

Raven spoke up, addressing the twins. "Hey, it's getting late. Do you two have to be home any time soon?"

Simon shook his head. "No, our mother's a prostitute." The sad part was that he was serious.

Maddie and Simon's mother was just as bad a parent as Jocelyn was. Their father had divorced her when the twins were a year old, and then was stabbed to death shortly after in a messy situation that involved a woman having an affair with the twins' dad, only to be walked in on by her jealous, murderous boyfriend who just so happened to be carrying a knife.

"Even so," said Maddie, "we should probably be going home."

"I'll see you safely home, sexy-face," purred Isabelle.

Raven interrupted her. "No, Belly, it's okay. I'll go with them."

The twins sent her thankful glances, briefly projectile-hugged me goodbye, and then followed her out the door.

I stood up before anything else could happen. "I'm going to go to sleep."

Before anyone could respond, I went into the hallway. It was chillier than the kitchen had been, and cooled down my face. I felt a sudden wave of exhaustion and sank into a couch at the end of the corridor, not thinking about what I was doing. I closed my eyes and began dreaming…

_I was walking down a long hallway, which was so elaborate that it seemed to have come out of a French mansion or something similar. I looked down and saw that I was wearing a luxurious purple ballgown, heavy layers of skirts brushing the floor. My hair was pinned up into a bun, except all the curls that framed my face were down, doing just that._

_I entered into an enormous ballroom, all gold and white, with high walls that gleamed as if they had been polished. My eyes turned skyward and I saw a clear roof above, sloping upwards into the night sky. _

_Suddenly, I was waltzing with someone to the accompaniment of a full-on orchestra. Was I caught inside one of my Victorian fantasies?_

_Apparently not. "Enjoying yourself?" It was Simon. He was not the best dancer, as he kept stepping on the hem of my dress as he steered me through the crowd, but he _was_ trying, and that's what mattered. Simon was wearing a black-on-black tuxedo, which showed his coloring off to good advantage: straight, dark hair, lightly tanned skin, bright smile. I supposed most people would have found him good looking, but he wasn't quite my cup of tea, per se._

"_You could say that," I said with a laugh. "I've never seen anything like this place. Where are we, anyway?"_

_I looked around as we danced, passing a fancy champagne fountain- an enormous silver dish, the center statue a mermaid holding a jar that poured sparkling wine down her bare back. I saw Alec, Raven and Isabelle filling wine glasses from it, laughing and talking. Two others were there with them, Maddie and… Simon? They were holding hands, watching me…_

_But I was _dancing_ with Simon…_

_I turned to look in front of myself, and I was now dancing with… Jace? My lips parted in a gasp and I immediately blushed._

"_Welcome to the Glass City," he said, one hand resting gently on my waist and the other clasped in mine as we waltzed, although I felt mildly embarrassed to be in such a position. He was wearing an extremely gauzy white shirt with a deep V-neck that showed off the black swirling Marks on his chest, his pants tailored-looking and black. His hair and eyes looked more gold than I'd ever noticed, and he was staring at me intently, with a hint of something I couldn't quite identify._

_We whirled past the champagne fountain, and the mermaid statue turned to me, baring a grin that showed pointy fangs. Suddenly, the fountain was gone as if it had never been there in the first place._

_Everyone was waltzing around us in a circle. Simon appeared to be dancing with Raven, Maddie with a short, Spanish-looking young man, Isabelle with a biracial girl that had brown hair, Alec with an extremely tall man that seemed to throw off glitter in his wake, and, strangely enough, that Clary-thing dancing with Eric, although they kept stepping on each other's feet._

_Why was that Clary character in my dream, again?_

"_What is _she_ doing here?" I wondered aloud._

_Jace smiled at me, and I felt a weird tension in my throat. "I don't know. It's_ your_ dream."_

"_That's a really bad answer," I protested without looking at him, instead opting to study the elaborate folds of the bottom of my dress._

_He leaned in close to me and I glanced up in surprise, abruptly turning my head. The dancing couples had sped up, and were whirling around us now in a blur of color. _

_Jace's lips were against my ear, and I could feel his warm breath on my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. "Wake up, Carrie," he whispered. "Wake up. Wake up."_

I immediately bolted upright, gasping with a sudden bout of head-rush, and discovered that my wrists were being held in a hard grip. I tried to pull away to no avail, and then I blinked away my momentary blindness. "Jace?"

"Yeah." He was sitting on the edge of the bed that I was mysteriously in, looking tousled and half-awake, with early morning hair and sleepy eyes.

"Let go of me right this instant," I hissed, but it dissolved into a yawn.

"Alright," he relented, but only one wrist of mine was freed. His other hand moved down to hold mine-

"I said to let go of me," I said insistently, although my voice still sounded exhausted. He finally complied with my request. "Why did you grab at my wrists, anyway?"

He looked amused, but his eyes showed that he didn't like being rejected. "You tried to hit me the second I touched you."

"Well, that's what you deserve for being a creeper," I said in an uppity tone. I surveyed the room I was in. It was small, all decked out in cream-colored fabric and dark wood furniture. I was on a moderately comfortable twin bed, and my purse was resting on the bedside table. "Why am I in here? I fell asleep on a couch in the hallway."

"You did," Jace agreed. "_But_, you didn't look very comfortable when I found you, so I carried you in here. Raven had already set it up for you, anyway." That explained the furnishings compared to the other stark rooms I'd seen on the hour-long trek to the library.

"Thanks, I guess," I grumbled, pushing my long curls out of my face and running a hand through the rest of my hair. "What time is it?"

"About five or so."

"As in _five in the morning_?" I glared at him. "Why did you wake me up at such an ungodly hour of the day?"

"One of the Silent Brothers is here to see you. Hodge sent me to wake you up. Actually, he offered to wake you up himself, but I figured you'd be in a better mood if you had something nice to look at."

I felt like being difficult. "But you didn't bring any mirrors."

The corner of his mouth quirked up. "I meant myself." Pssh. Pretentious moron.

"Obviously." I rolled my eyes at his arrogance. "So what does this Silent Brother thing entail?"

"You just have to meet Brother Jeremiah. You might even like him. He's got a great sense of humor for a guy who never says anything."

"Fine." I let a few seconds pass. "What are you still doing here? Get out. I need to change."

Jace got up, smirking, so I knew he was up to something. He paused at the door and blew a mocking kiss at me. "Adieu, Sleeping Beauty."

"Get out!"

As soon as the door shut behind him, I dragged myself out of bed, stretching. I went into the private bathroom to get a drink, since my mouth was as dry as the Sahara.

Less than five minutes later, I was lacing up my fuchsia hi-tops. I'd changed into dark skinny jeans (as usual) and a graphic T-shirt. I loved my skinny jeans; they showed off my surprisingly long legs to good advantage. I shook my hair out, adjusted it a bit, and then went to join Jace in the hallway.

Church and Philip were with him, both circling restlessly. Until I approached.

Philip predictably bounded into my arms, nuzzling at my face. I laughed and petted his head. "Good morning to _you_, Philip."

With a last mew, he pounced back out of my arms, resuming his circling with Church.

I turned to Jace, ignoring the downright odd way he left the bedroom. "Why are they so... restless?"

"The Silent Brothers make most animals nervous."

"Along with most humans, it seems."

He smiled thinly. Philip meowed a goodbye as we took off down the hallway, but neither feline followed. The corridors were dark and cool, which was strange because the room I'd woken up in had been stifling.

When we reached the library, I was mildly surprised to see that the lamps were off, the library lit only by the milky glow that filtered down through the high windows of the vaulted ceiling.

Hodge was seated at the enormous desk, tense and on-edge as always. He wasn't looking at us; rather, his attention was on a bright patch that contrasted heavily with the overall darkness of the room.

I gasped, despite myself. A tall man in a heavy, parchment-colored robe that covered him completely moved out of the shadows. The robe fell straight to the floor, and the raised hood hid his entire face. The hems and sleeves were embroidered with blood-like runic designs.

I thought of a dementor robed in white. It was a pretty accurate representation, actually.

"This," said Hodge, "is Brother Jeremiah of the Silent City."

_I am no dementor_, said a voice in my mind. _But I'll accept that as a compliment_.

My eyes widened, and my mouth fell open. Had that been Brother Jeremiah's voice echoing inside my mind like that?

_Yes_, it responded in a voice like Nekozawa's from Host Club. _It is a relief when my patients are clever, so thank you._

I laughed once. Jace had been right; this guy _did_ have a sense of humor!

Jeremiah came toward us, his heavy cloak swirling as he moved. Strangely, he made no sound, not even a swish of his robe. He reeked of potent incense, just as strong as the stuff Jocelyn liked to burn around the house sometimes.

_Your mother has good taste, then_.

It was obvious that no one else had heard his voice, as Jace looked confused and Hodge brought unnecessary attention to me. "And this, Jeremiah," he said, rising from the desk, "is the girl I wrote to you about. Catherine Fray."

_I can tell, Starkweather_. Jace chuckled at that, so I'd assumed he'd heard, too.

Jeremiah's hooded face turned slowly to me, and I felt a deep sense of fascination. "Nice to meet you," I said conversationally.

_And you_, he replied, to the accompaniment of a nod in my direction.

Hodge spoke up. "I decided you were right, Jace."

_Obviously. Otherwise, I would not be here right now, would I?_

"I _am_ right," corrected Jace. "I usually am."

His tutor ignored him, and I could tell why no one here seemed to care much about him. He was pretty rude, and offered his long-winded opinion when no one wanted it. "I sent a letter to the Clave about all this last night, but Carrie's memories are her own. Only she can decide how she wants to deal with the contents of her own head. If she wants the help of the Silent Brothers, she should have that choice."

I considered that. Madame Overkill had claimed there was a block in my mind, hiding something. I desperately wanted to know exactly what it was. I wasn't perturbed by Brother Jeremiah, not at all. I was more intrigued, actually.

His face was still turned towards me, nothing visible from under his hood. _So this is Jocelyn's daughter_.

"Yes," said Hodge, and added quickly, "and you know who her father is, I expect."

_Valentine Morgenstern, correct?_

Hodge flinched, and then gulped. "Cor-correct."

I glanced at Jace, who was standing very closely to me. His arm snaked around my back, but I was too absorbed in the adults' conversation to tell him to get off me.

Hodge explained to me for no reason, "The Brothers keep records on all members of the Clave. Exhaustive records-"

"Not that exhaustive," said Jace, "if they didn't know Carrie's mother was still alive."

_It is likely that she had the assistance of a warlock in her disappearance. Most Shadowhunters cannot so easily escape the Clave. _His voice held a definite dark humor to it, just like Nekozawa. It was hilarious!

"But hold on," I said to the small group. "Why would Valentine think that _Jocelyn_ has the Mortal Cup? She's a moron. How would she get her hands on it?"

"That is not certain," said Hodge, "but do not underestimate your mother. She above all people would have known what would happen if Val-Valentine had the Cup. And I imagine that she didn't trust the Clave to hold on to it, not after her husband got it away from them in the first place."

"Whatever." I couldn't keep the doubt from my voice. The entire thing was so implausible. Jocelyn, fleeing under cover of darkness, with the Mortal Cup in a marabou sling around her shoulders?

_I suppose it_ is_ ridiculous_.

Hodge was getting frustrated. "Jocelyn turned against her husband when she found out what he intended to do with the Cup. It's not unreasonable to assume she would do everything in her power to keep the Cup from falling into his hands. The Clave themselves would have looked first to her if they'd thought she was still alive."

"It seems to me that the Clave is made up of a bunch of idiots," I said with an acid quality to my voice. "Do they _ever_ know when anyone is dead or not?"

Hodge's eyes went wide, but Jace said to me, "My father is dead. I think the Clave recognizes that."

_Either way, there is truth to be learned here, if you are patient enough to listen to it._

With a quick gesture, he raised his hands and drew the hood back from his face. Jace tightened his grip on me as I gasped. Jeremiah's head was bald, as smooth and white as an egg. His eyelids were sewn together along with his lips, all crisscrossed with a pattern of long black lines that resembled shoddily-done surgical stitches. I understood what Isabelle had meant about mutilation.

Even so, it was pretty cool.

"Carrie." It was Hodge, his tone shaky. "It's entirely possible that there are memories you may have buried or repressed, memories formed when you were too young to have a conscious recollection of them, that Brother Jeremiah can reach. It could help us a great deal."

I narrowed my eyes at Hodge. "Can you _please_ stop pointing out the obvious all the time? It's really grating on my nerves."

I was ready for Jeremiah to reach inside my mind and retrieve everything that had been stolen from me. I was sick of Hodge underestimating my mental competence.

"Are you going to do it?" Jace asked me, his lips almost against my ear like in my freaky dream.

I jerked away, effectively flipping my hair in his face and stepping several paces away. "Yes," I said somewhat manically. "Sure. Let's do this."

_Your enthusiasm is quite unprecedented_,_ but it _is_ appreciated_.

Jeremiah reached out to touch my face, the skin of his fingers as thin as a sheet of paper and inked with runes. I felt the power in them, comparable to static electricity. I closed my eyes, not before I caught Jace's strange expression.

Colors swirled up against the darkness behind my eyelids, which was quite odd. I felt pressure in the depths of my mind, a drawing pull that willed everything to rise to the surface. But, at the same time, I felt an oppressive weight, stopping anything from passing through. A flash of pain shot through my head, but I could tell that it was internal. An internal streak of lightning, coming down to strike my defenseless brain. I was consumed with extreme cold, like that in the winter. I saw an icy street, gray buildings looming overhead, an explosion of whiteness stinging my face in freezing particles...

And then nothing but a million more stabs of pain into the black hole of my mind-

"That's _enough!"_ Jace's voice cut through the dark, reeling me into the surface like I was caught on a supersonic fishing line. "She's obviously in pain!"

My eyes sprang open, and the world tilted. Jace darted out and caught me before I could crumble to the ground. I could feel my face frozen into a mask of torment, and I slowly made it relax.

The library came back into focus- the book-lined walls, the anxious face of Hodge, Brother Jeremiah. He stood unmoving, a carved idol of ivory in the middle of the library.

"Jace-" Hodge began to reprimand.

Said Jace was still holding me, but I felt suddenly exhausted and confused, like I'd drop to the ground if he let me go. "You saw her face," he argued, and I became aware of his hands- one on my back, one on my shoulder- keeping me firmly against his chest. Grr. He asked against the top of my head, "Are you all right?"

That was the final straw, his icky lips against my hair. I peeled myself out of his grasp, the nausea finally faded enough to allow me to stand on my own, thankfully. "I'm fine," I said gruffly, massaging my temples with my fingertips.

_There _is_ a block in your mind_, said Brother Jeremiah with scholarly curiosity. _Your memories cannot be reached_.

"She's repressed her memories?" said Hodge.

_Of course not. I mean that they have been blocked from her conscious mind by a spell. I cannot break it here. She will have to come to the Silent City and stand before the Brotherhood_.

"A _spell_?" I echoed incredulously. "Who would put a spell on me?" No one answered me. "Well, fine. I'm willing to go, by the way. I want to know the truth."

Jace nodded once. "Fine. I'm coming with you." I sent him a withering look, not amused at his antics.

_Then so be it_.

Leaving the Institute was like descending into the fiery pits of Hades. Humid, sweltering air pressed down on the ground, turning the air into smoggy, polluted soup leftover from the city. "What are we waiting for, again?" I wondered. "And where did Brother Jeremiah go?" Jace and I were standing on the pathway outside the Institute, the rest of the area deserted. It really _was_ in the middle of nowhere, but apparently not too far from the city, as the pollution was wafting over.

"You might say that he's gone to get his car."

I pictured Jeremiah driving; it was laughable. I wrinkled my nose at a sudden thought. "And why did you insist on coming with me?"

He flashed me a grin, and my eyes darted to the brown, dry grass that littered the ground. "I'm here to protect you, of course."

"I don't _need_ protection," I claimed, crossing my arms defiantly. A few moments passed, and then I caught him staring at me. "Will you stop that?"

"Stop what?" he said deliberately, just to provoke my reaction, probably, irritating smirk on his face.

I waved an arm in his direction. "That! Staring at me! It's creepy!" Why was I so flustered...?

His gaze didn't move one millimeter. "If _you_ say so."

I made an impatient sound accompanied by my world-famous are-you-serious face. I was just about to say something snarky when I was cut off by the unmistakable sound of... horses?

But what was pulling up was a narrow black car with tinted windows, and looked slightly like a limousine...

Ah, it was a _glamour_. I concentrated, letting the glamour fall apart at the seams.

Now the small limo was an elaborate, beautiful, black stagecoach. It was edged in wrought iron filigree, and trimmed with black velvet and silver fringe that hung from the top and bottom. The wheels, even, were fancy. I couldn't see inside; the window was blocked with a black lace curtain.

The stagecoach itself was being pulled by two black horses, but upon further examination, their eyes were glazed over, almost as if they had rolled back completely, and their manes and tails were made of what appeared to be swirling shadows. My mouth fell open at the overall wonder and beauty of the coach, a piece of a more Gothic Victorian England smack dab in the middle of New York.

Brother Jeremiah was riding shotgun, his robe unwrinkled by the fact that he was sitting. His rune-laden, parchment-like hands were clasped in his lap, and his hood was up once again.

The driver of the coach was far more curious. All I could see of him was a tailored, Victorian-style dark gray suit complete with starched, white, collared shirt and black tie, a pair of shiny dress shoes, and a top hat. As in, _he had no face._ Or neck. Or hands, but I could see white gloves.

He jumped off the driver's bench, tipping his hat at me. "G'morning, missy," he said in a heavy Cockney-accented, somewhat high but undeniably masculine voice. He acknowledged Jace, "And you, sir. Nice to see you again." He put his top hat underneath one of his arms. Where his suit's arm rode up, I could see a patch of nothing between that and the end of his glove. "Allow me to introduce myself. The name's Edmund, Edmund Hollingberry."

I nodded at him, and grinned. "Pleased to meet you. I'm Carrie Fray."

"Nice to see you again, too, Edmund," supplied Jace. I wondered when they had met.

_Edmund, stop wasting time. We haven't got all day_, said Jeremiah, and it almost sounded like he was complaining.

"Right-o, sir, right-o." He addressed us. "Well, then, you heard the boss." He opened the door to the coach, and I saw how the gap between the ground and the floor of the coach was over two feet... "Up, up, up. Do you need help, missy? I have no problem with helping pretty girls into my stagecoach." I laughed; Edmund was one of those people you couldn't help but like.

"That won't be necessary," Jace said, arm going around me protectively. I squirmed, hoping he'd get the point.

The coachman sounded amused. "My apologies, Mr. Wayland, my apologies. Didn't mean to be too forward with your girlfriend."

"I'm _not_ his girlfriend," I said, speaking up and inching out of Jace's grasp.

Edmund said, "Why not? He's handsome enough, he is."

_Edmund_, said Jeremiah, sounding extremely annoyed, _just get the step-stool. _

"I'm on it, sir," Edmund said, already retrieving a small stool from inside the coach and placing it in front of the door. "There you are, missy, there, there."

"Thanks," I said honestly, stepping onto it and into the stagecoach, Jace vaulting up behind me without bothering to use the stool at all, Edmund placing said stool in and closing the door after him.

The interior was furnished in a glossy, upholstered, leather-type material with black lace curtains on the windows as I'd seen from outside. Jace slid in next to me. "What do you think about our personal escort to the Silent City, complete with the Brothers' own driver?"

"Edmund is... very curious," I finally decided with a smile, looking down at the polished floor of the coach. "How is he invisible?"

Jace filled me in as Edmund began driving. "He told me personally that the Silent Brothers were testing out a new invisibility rune a hundred or so years ago and he volunteered, but they're unable to remove it even now because, well, he's _invisible_ and they don't know where they put it. So, in reparation, they gave him a rune of immortality and appointed him as their official escort."

Somehow, it didn't seem fair. "That was considerate of them," I said half-sarcastically. "He only has to go around invisible for the rest of eternity and drive them around."

"The job has its perks," Jace argued. "For example, he gets to flirt with all the guests."

"I can tell," I said, pulling back a lace curtain to see outside the window. We were still in the middle of nowhere, but had passed into a forested area that I didn't recognize, wildlife and endless trees passing by at rapid speed. I thought I saw a huge, misshapen rock, but it turned into something else entirely once I stripped away the glamour. "Is that a _dragon_?" I gasped, but it had already whizzed by and I could only see trees.

"Probably," said Jace, "but they're under the care of vampires."

"You people let vampires take care of _dragons_?" How strange!

Jace nodded from beside me. "Every main subset of Downworlders- Shadowhunters, too- have to take care of at least one species of magical creature. We have unicorns, but they fend for themselves in Idris. It's their native habitat."

"Unicorns?" I echoed, excitement building. I had been obsessed with unicorns when I was little until Jocelyn had found out and berated me incessantly about the subject.

"Yes. Vampires have dragons, werewolves have trolls, fey have everything from griffins to harpies, and so on and so forth."

"Wow," I said, and even that didn't exactly cover my awed feelings at that moment. "I almost missed that dragon- the glamour made it look like a huge rock."

"I bet that's because of the block in your mind," he said matter-of-factly. "The Brothers will take care of that."

"And what happens after that?" I asked, giving Jace a sidelong glance that unfortunately did not go unnoticed.

He bestowed upon me a dry smile in return. "And the time will come when you see we're all one, and life flows on within you and without you."

"Don't quote George Harrison at me," I said, thinking of my favorite Beatle who had written the song Jace was quoting. "And that doesn't even make sense in context."

His smile grew more curious. "I didn't think you'd recognize it. It's one of the Beatles' lesser-known songs."

I remembered the chorus of 'Get Back' emanating from his cell phone, and remembered that he was a co-fan. "Everyone who calls themself a Beatles fan should know it."

"I'm glad to hear that someone agrees with me." I noticed from his smile that his teeth were kind of funny, the top canines pronounced a bit so that they looked like fangs. It _was_ funny, since he seemed like the kind of person who'd want every part of his appearance to be immaculate- in other words, a complete metrosexual.

I grinned at the thought. "I didn't know you had so much time to appreciate music, what with your demon slaying and all."

He shrugged. "On the job? Not so much, unless you count the occasional wailing chorus of the damned. Off the job, however, is a completely different story."

I recalled him playing piano the day before. "Yes, like the second movement of Debussy's _Suite bergamasque_, right?"

Jace's eyebrow rose in surprise. "Another piece of music I wouldn't have expected you'd recognize."

"I'm glad to hear you put so much stock in my knowledge," I said sardonically. "Who taught you piano?"

"My father insisted I learn to play an instrument."

"Jocelyn _tried_ to get me to learn piano, but I didn't have the patience for it." I'd thrown a tantrum until she pulled me out of lessons, actually.

The corners of his mouth twitched. "Why am I not surprised?"

I claimed airily, "I have no idea what you mean by that. I am _incredibly_ patient, just not enough for musical instruments, I'll have you know." I thought about everything he'd told me about his paternal unit. "Your father sounds pretty strict."

"Not at all. He indulged me, taught me everything- weapons training, demonology, arcane lore, ancient languages. He gave me anything I wanted. Horses, weapons, books, even a hunting falcon."

Not the wants of a typical child, unless you count little girls who wanted ponies for Christmas. It didn't seem to fit, strangely. "Why didn't you tell Hodge about the shady men in the Wolf-Den? That they were the ones who killed your father."

Jace studied his hands. They were much bigger than mine; if I'd put them against each other, I bet that he would have easily been able to curl the tops of his fingers over mine (probably with room to spare, too). I mean, I knew I had dainty hands, but _seriously_? Even so, they were slim and careful, like the hands of an artist or something similar. The ring I'd noticed before flashed on his right hand. Usually, boys wearing rings was not a good sign, but there didn't seem to be anything feminine about this one. The ring itself was solid and heavy-looking, made of a dark silver with a pattern of stars around the band, the letter W part of the design. "Because if I did, he'd know I wanted to kill Valentine myself. And he'd never let me try." He glanced up at me. "Sorry if you don't want me to kill your father."

"No, it's fine," I said. "I grew up with Jocelyn feeding me the lie that he died in a car crash, so I think I'd be alright. You'd want to kill him for revenge?"

"Not revenge, for justice," said Jace, sounding like a stereotypical Gryffindor. "I never knew who killed my father, and now I do. This is my chance to make it right."

"By killing _my_ father?" I said, but I was smiling, amused. "Then I'd have to kill _you_ for justice's sake."

"_Touché_," Jace said, but he sounded just as amused as I was.

I let the conversation trail off, and instead opted to look out the window. We were riding through sweeping countryside now, acres of brown fields passing by, obviously dead because of the dry summer. But where were we? We had to be out in the countryside, but what countryside?

_The Silent City is far beyond the realms of New York,_ said Jeremiah helpfully. So he'd been listening in. _This is one of the many pathways that lead to our destination_.

_Thanks_, I thought.

_You are most welcome. Helping those in need is part of my Vow of Charity_.

The wonders of the Silent Brothers never ceased to amaze me.

_Now you are just flattering me_.

I pulled the black lace back over the window, and studied Jace. He was lost in thought, still staring at his hands. He raised his gold eyes to look at me as if he sensed my glance, and said emotionlessly, "I was ten. When my father was murdered, that is." His gaze drifted back to his hands and he continued on, taking heavy pauses between sentences as if the words pained him. "We lived in a manor house, out in the country. My father always said it was safer away from people." He broke off for another long pause in which I wanted to comfort him, but didn't know how. "I heard them coming up the drive and went to tell him. He told me to hide, so I did. Behind the door into the dining room. I saw those men come in, and others with them. Not men. Forsaken. They overpowered my father and cut his throat. The blood ran across the floor. Soaked my shoes. I didn't move." His expression was anguished, and I could see a flicker of his ten-year-old self, the horror and incredible agony at nearly witnessing his own father's murder.

It took me a couple seconds to find my voice. I couldn't imagine what that must have been like, and dually wondered why he was telling me all about it. It was pretty personal.

_He fancies you_, said Jeremiah.

I told myself that he was lying, and went on with what I had to say. "Jace… That's awful. _Beyond_ awful." I felt like my words weren't expressing how I felt, the deep-seated empathy I possessed. I'd always been an empathetic person, feeding off emotions and being able to feel everyone else's as strongly as my own.

I had the abrupt urge to reach out and grab his hand.

Wait, _what_? That was highly uncharacteristic! What was my mind _thinking_? What with him 'fancying' me and all, no! No, no, no, no, no, no, _no_-

"I'm sorry for your loss," I said in a strangled voice, managing a sympathetic smile.

"Thanks," he said in a dead voice, but then gained a note of resolve. "But I don't need sympathy. Only people with no purpose need sympathy. I've _got_ a purpose."

"Would that purpose be killing demons or avenging your father's death?" I wondered, still a bit freaked out at my own mind. What was wrong with me?

"Both," he said, looking up and grinning confidently before sitting up straight again. It seemed that talking about revenge made him cheer up, oddly.

"So," I said, changing the subject to basic Shadowhunting, knowing that I would get a straight answer, "do you kill all demons, or just some of them?"

"Every single one I come across."

I nodded, glad that we were off messy emotion-inducing conversations. "And why?"

"All demons are evil. They're inter-dimensional parasites. They come to a world and use it up, drain a place to ashes. And when it's dead, they move on to the next one. It's life they want, not necessarily anyone's in particular, but the life of this world: its rivers, cities, oceans, everything. Including people. And the only thing that stands between them and destruction of life as we know it is the Nephilim."

Jace got really excited whenever he talked about Shadowhunters. It was funny. "Sounds like a hefty job. How many worlds are there?"

"No one is completely sure. Hundreds, maybe even millions."

"And what, most of them have been used up by demons?" I pictured it almost like a neighborhood of houses. A horrible bunch of frat boys would move into one, and once they trashed the place, they'd move on to the next. Where did Earth stand in the lineup?

"Not necessarily. There are probably other living worlds like ours, but only demons can travel between them. Because they're mostly non-corporeal, partly, but nobody knows exactly why. Plenty of warlocks have tried it, but it never works. Apparently, nothing can pass from Earth through the wardings between the worlds. If we could," he added, and I was intrigued, "we might be able to block them from coming here, but once again, no one is sure how to do it."

"That's too bad." I was caught up watching his animation, how excited he was. The fervor in his eyes and occasional, sharp gesture. He was like a little kid rambling about Christmas.

"Exactly, because more and more of them have been coming in. There used to be only small, easily containable demon invasions into this world, but incredible numbers have been slipping past the wardings, even in my lifetime. The Clave always has to dispatch Shadowhunters, and they don't usually come back," he concluded with a grim laugh.

I considered all of that. If only there was a way to stop it, some sort of magical Shadowhunting genie that could solve problems, or something. "And the Mortal Cup could make more Shadowhunters to fight those increasing numbers of demons?"

"Sure. But we haven't had the Cup for years now, and a lot of us die young. Thus, _our_ numbers are slowly dwindling."

That struck me as odd. "Aren't you all reproducing, or is it too outdated?" I asked sarcastically.

He burst out laughing as Edmund made a sudden, sharp left turn. Jace braced himself, but I was too late and therefore thrown against him, curse my dainty frame. He threw his arm around my shoulders, and said, "Of course. We love reproducing. It's one of our favorite things."

_Obviously_, commented Brother Jeremiah, and I bet that Jace could hear it too.

I removed his arm and scooted a foot away, back to my normal seat. I pulled back the curtain and looked out the window again. We were rolling toward a heavy wrought iron gate, trellised with dark vines.

"We're here," announced Jace, looking over my shoulder as the smooth roll of wheels on pavement changed to the noisy jounce of cobblestones.

The stagecoach stopped, and a few seconds later Edmund opened the door, retrieving the stool. "Here we are, here we are. Out you go."

And so we did. I curiously asked Edmund once I was safely on the cobblestone road, "Why did you agree to be invisible?"

He chuckled, removing his top hat again. "Because I was too ugly for anyone to look at me anyway, missy. But either way, it was nice to meet you."

"You too," I said, looking around at my new surroundings. We were, predictably, in the middle of an expanse of fields.

I walked up to the wrought iron gate, and saw that it was inscribed: Darkbloom Cemetery. Below that, in slightly smaller, curling letters: Cineri Gloria Sera Est_. _

I recognized it. It was a quote from the Roman poet Martial, "Glory paid to ashes comes too late." What a strange, depressing quote to put above the entrance to a graveyard. It almost seemed like it was mocking the dead.

I realized that Jace was predictably standing close to me. "This must be an old cemetery." They had stopped burying people in Manhattan over a century ago due to lack of room, after all.

"You're right. It is," he said, nodding.

I looked back to the coach, and Brother Jeremiah was descending from his perch behind the restless horses in a silent fall of robes. Curiously, he cast no shadow on the cobblestone road.

_Follow me_, he said, gliding along the road and under the archway.

I saw no reason not to, and neither, it seemed, did Jace. Edmund was a few paces behind us, whistling a cheerful tune to himself and occasionally snapping his fingers.

We were in a graveyard that was enormous, and shaped roughly like a square, from what I could tell. The graves went on in a hundred-foot border along the inside of the ivy-streaked wrought iron fence. Most of the headstones were cracked with age, chipped in places and all overgrown with even more ivy. It was like something out of a darkly romantic poem (like something Edgar Allan Poe may have written about), what with the dead grass and especially the rose garden.

It was past the graves, and once we got to the hedges, I could make out more detail as we passed through another, smaller fence that looked like the gate had fallen off. The branches were all brownish black and overgrown, as if someone had once taken pains to manicure them into boxes but no longer cared, letting them fall to neglect and eventually death. Even so, roses were still on the branches, burgundy but laced with black, some more than others.

It was impossible. Roses couldn't grow from dead branches… Or could they?

I reached for one with a gasp, cradling the bloom in my hand. It felt just as soft as a normal rose, but as I watched, it withered and blackened in my hand, crumbling to dust. I stepped back, and saw another rose come in its place, identical to the one I had just unintentionally wrecked.

"Come on," Jace said, steering me gently back to following Jeremiah. "No getting sidetracked."

"Fine. Let go of me," I replied, and he removed his hand from my back (as he often had to do).

As we walked along the pathway, it became obvious that the bushes were in a hexagonal shape, the center being a giant, gleaming statue of an angel.

It was bright, shining whiter than marble and shimmering like diamonds, capped with silver where the shadows fell. Turkish alabaster, I recalled. Nothing else fit the description, except maybe Dead-weird Cullen's skin.

The angel statue was gigantic, about ten feet tall, and glimmered in the light of early dawn. It was the only lifelike, sparkling thing in this entire graveyard of dead. Was it supposed to be Raziel?

Its face was flawlessly beautiful, but equally powerful. I assumed it _was_ Raziel, since it was carrying alabaster renditions of a jewel-studded goblet and a wicked-looking sword, its hilt also inlaid with the same gems. I had seen the goblet somewhere, not just in the motifs around the Institute… But where…?

The statue's base was inscribed with a date, 1324, and words underneath: Nephilim: Facilis Descensus Averni. Latin! Again!

"Is the goblet supposed to be the Mortal Cup?" I wondered, although I knew the answer.

Jeremiah had halted in front of the statue, standing completely still as if waiting for our pointless little conversation to end.

_Exactly._

Jace nodded. "And that's the motto of the Nephilim there on the base." His face broke into a wide grin. "Shadowhunters: Looking Better in Black than the Widows of our Enemies since 1324."

I snorted and rolled my eyes.

_The young jester meant to say, 'The descent into Hell is easy,'_ corrected Brother Jeremiah.

"Yeah, young jester," I said to Jace, trying not to laugh. "You should have given the correct translation."

He took the name in his stride, as if he hadn't heard. "It's the Brothers' little joke, having that here. You'll see why."

Brother Jeremiah had drawn an elaborate, jeweled stele from one of the pockets of his robe and traced a rune on the statue's base using the tip. The mouth of the stone Raziel suddenly gaped wide in a silent scream, and a black hole opened in the cobblestones at Jeremiah's feet, looking very much like an open grave.

I supposed the motto on the statue _was _ironic.

_Not many people understand the joke_.

I inquisitively approached the edge of the hole and peered into the darkness inside. A set of marble steps led down somewhere, overlaid in the middle with a black carpet that must have once been made of velvet but was now frayed and dirty from years of use. Candelabras were set on the narrow walls every few feet, flaring bright tangerine-colored tongues of fire from milky white candles. I couldn't see the bottom of the staircase, as it was lost in heavy darkness.

Jace took to the stairs behind Jeremiah with the ease of someone who found a situation familiar, but not quite comfortable. Halfway to the first candelabra, he looked back at me. "Come on, Carrie."

"I'm coming," I said impatiently, putting my foot on the first step to the addition of a cloud of dust. It _was_ frayed, black velvet, as I had assumed, but embroidered on the edges with dark cream thread that had faded to near-brown in some places.

The walls were dark gray stone, like in a medieval castle. The air hung thickly with extremely pungent incense, _exactly_ like the stuff Jocelyn got from Madame Overkill and burned in our apartment.

_Then that 'Madame Overkill' must have good taste, too_.

I stifled laughter, and continued on down the stairs behind Jace.

He asked me, turning back for a second, "Are you nervous?"

I shrugged, but it went unnoticed since he was facing the other way. "Not really. Maybe a little, but nothing major."

Jace flashed a grin, the candlelight glinting off his teeth. "You want me to hold your hand?"

"No," I snapped, "and don't talk down to me."

"But I can't exactly talk _up_ to you. You're too tiny." I felt like grabbing a candelabra and smacking him with it.

"Hey," I pointed out as we went descended the stairs, "I'm taller than that Clary-thing." She had to have been barely five feet tall, a few inches shorter than I was, thank you very much. Regardless, Maddie and Simon constantly squealed over how "cute" and "petite" they thought I was…

"Yet still short to me. Go figure." Just because he was all five-foot-eleven or whatever…

I was about to kick him in the calves when Edmund's hand caught my shoulder. He whispered to me, "Mr. Wayland is _quite_ the flirt, isn't he, missy?"

I had almost forgotten that he was following. "I wouldn't know," I claimed casually.

I heard Brother Jeremiah chuckling in my mind. _Oh, yes, you would._

After making an irritated noise and going down a few more stairs, the staircase opened into a long hallway, lined with the same candelabras adorning the stone walls. The floor was dusty, and covered in the same worn carpet as on the stairway.

And thus, we went into the Silent City.

If I had thought the incense was heavy in the hallways, I was mistaken. As we entered into the antechamber of the Silent City, the scent hit me like I ran into a wall. Why did the Brothers insist on raping my nostrils like that?

_Scent is one of our two senses we have left, along with hearing. We make the most of what we have._

It was then that I noted the classical music, blaring out of some unseen room. Very nice… Tchaikovsky. Swan Lake?

_Very astute observation_, Jeremiah said appreciatively.

_Don't mention it_, I thought back.

The antechamber was enormous, arching up to a peaked ceiling, all made of what looked like black marble. The carpet was replaced with polished white stones inlaid with narrow strips of amethyst, pearl, onyx, and sugilite. It was even engraved with the same runes that sometimes decorated Jace's skin, all lines and whorls and swirling patterns.

I saw Silent Brothers flitting around everywhere; one lighting more incense for whatever reason here, one polishing the floor there.

I reckoned it was some sort of a monastery after a troupe of them walked by in two lines, piously looking at the ground but stopping to nod at Jeremiah.

Monty Python… The chanting, masochistic monks… "_Pie Iesu Domine; dona eis requiem."_

A chorus of chuckles went through my mind, and someone said, _We're not _that_ masochistic._

Several wooden doors led out of the chamber, all marked with signs above them: "Crabnose", "Pigpoke", "Greedigutt", "Mountainfire", "Roundrobin", "Widemouth," and, most curiously, "Wine Cellar."

_The names are of old Shadowhunting families who always send every son besides the eldest into the Brotherhood. Those are their personal crypts for their dead_, announced Jeremiah, I could tell to all of us.

"But why have a wine cellar if you can't even open your mouths?" I wondered aloud.

Edmund laughed raucously. "They may not be able to, missy, but _I_ sure can!"

Jace was being awfully quiet, so I looked at him. He was staring at me. Grr. I spoke to him. "I thought that _you_ said this was a library." It was one of _my_ new hobbies, accusing Jace whenever I found him doing something creepy.

"It _is_ a library, probably on another level," he explained to me, but not condescendingly. "For example, several floors beneath our feet is where they keep prisoners."

"They do not," I said disbelievingly.

_Yes, we do, actually. We have quite an impressive dungeon system_.

Well, then. "So, where are we going now?"

"The second level, where the council room is," said Jace, still looking at me in that strange way of his.

I glanced away, and was momentarily distracted by a monk reading a book that seemed like it was hijacked straight out of a Dark Ages monastery. "How can he read if his eyes are sewn shut?"

_We Brothers see through the mind's eye. It is very complicated._

Jeremiah turned right, in front of an ascending stairway that he began scaling, the rest of us traipsing after him.

That led to a square-shaped chamber with the same black marble walls, each corner marked with a spire of ivory carved in the shape of an angel. More candelabras glittered from the walls, and the air was still rife with overpowering fragrance that seemed to be a cross between sandalwood and oranges. Chamber music played on in the background, no longer Swan Lake.

In the center of the assembly room was a long limestone table, veined in white. Behind the table, against the dark wall, was an enormous sword, the same as in the statue of the angel Raziel and in the motifs of the Institute. It was made of gleaming silver, point down, the hilt carved in the shape of unfurled wings. Seated at the table were a dozen Silent Brothers, each wrapped in the same parchment-colored robes as Jeremiah, just like the others I'd seen. The three in the center all had red embroidered runes on the fronts of their robes.

Brother Jeremiah took his seat at one end of the table, and 'spoke'. _Catherine, stand before the Council, if you please_.

I figured that the ones on the Council were higher officers, superior Silent Brothers.

I snuck a peek at Jace, but he was blinking, clearly confused. Okay, so it was a private message. Well.

I looked at the table, at the long row of silent figures all covered completely in their robes. Alternating squares made up the floor, like a chessboard: milky ivory and dark ebony. Just in front of the table was a much larger square, made of black marble, like the walls, and embossed with an arc-shaped design of silver stars.

I stepped into the center of the black square, staring down the hooded figures confidently. "Okay, now what?"

Apparently, it was time to remove their hoods, since they all did just that, and in unison to boot, baring their scarred, egg-white heads.

It was kind of creepy, I had to admit.

_Boys, she thinks we're creepy_, said a raspy voice. _That's never a good sign_.

_Relax, Barnabas_, assured Jeremiah, _this girl is a smart one_._ She's just pretending._

_Alright, alright_, said an irritated third voice. _Let's stop wasting time and get this started already._

Suddenly, all thirteen men's voices were in my mind, speaking at the same time. _We greet you, Catherine Fray. Welcome to the Silent City_. Some were low and rough, some smooth and monotone, but all were friendly yet equally demanding, mysteriously, already pushing at the barriers in my mind.

Who had put those barriers there in the first place and, more importantly, _why?_

It was time to find out. I closed my eyes.

The voice that spoke was snarky, somewhat high-pitched, especially for a man. _Jeremiah says you are a smart one. Well, it's time to prove it. State your name for the council._

I laughed, but answered. _Catherine Renee Fray, but everyone calls me Carrie_.

More voices joined the first. _Who are you, exactly_?

_Carrie, as I just said_, I thought immediately.

_More in detail, please._

_My mother is a moron named Jocelyn. I live at 807 Berkeley Place in Brooklyn. I'm fifteen years old, but I'm going to turn sixteen this December. I just recently learned that my father really is-_

My mind snapped in on itself, like a rubber band, and I was reeled into a whirlpool of images, all in the comfort of my own mind. Jocelyn, before most of her Botox, hurrying me down a pitch-black street between piles of heaped and dirty snow that I could only see because of lampposts.

Then a gray sky, covered in stratus clouds, over the rooftop of a brownstone apartment. _Our_ apartment.

Jocelyn wrapped in her handmade quilt, tears spilling down her cheeks, quickly closing a box and shoving it under her mattress as I came into the room, staring at me fearfully, but I had already seen the initials: J.C.

The images came more and more rapidly. I was standing in the hallway of our apartment, the ground being much closer than I was used to as I peered around the corner to see the front door, and there was Luke. Jocelyn threw her arms around him. "Lucy! I thought you were _dead!_" she trilled annoyingly, already sobbing. Luke was different, practically a stranger- his sideburns were extended into a full-on beard, his hair long and tangled-

And then branches came down to block my view. I was in the park I used to play at when I was little, and itty-bitty green faeries buzzed among the red flowers. I laughed and reached for one, hoping to catch it on my finger like one might do with a butterfly, but Jocelyn swung me up into her arms and away from them with a cry of terror. "No- no! This can't be…"

Then it was winter on the black street again and we were hurrying through the snow, bundled up in layers of scarves and hats and mittens, Jocelyn half-carrying and half-dragging me between the enormous banks of snow. Since when was I tall enough only to reach Jocelyn's waist? A granite doorway came up out of the falling whiteness; there were words carved above the door: THE MAGNIFICENT. Then I was standing inside an entryway that smelled of strawberries and chocolate, a sharp contrast to the blizzard outside. My eyes blinked out from behind a scarf that hid most of my face, and then Jocelyn untied it, stuffing it in her pocket. A hand under my chin directed me to look up at an extremely tall man, a giant, really-

And then a sharp white wall came up, inscribed with a fancy signature that resembled Oscar Wilde's: Magnus Bane.

Words cut through. "Stop!" It was Jace's voice, once again fishing me out of the depths of my mind. "Stop it!" The images fell away as I spun upward, breaking the surface of consciousness.

I opened my eyes and shook my hair out, which also cleared away the head-rush. "How did I get down here?"

Somehow, I was kneeling in the center of the black square, the silver stars spread in a perfect arc around me.

Jace had sprinted over to my side and grabbed my shoulders, helping me to my feet. "Are you alright? Can you stand on your own?"

"I'm fine, I think," I said, rubbing my eyes while Jace propped me up unnecessarily. "You don't have to do that. I can stand."

_He's not going to move_, said one of the Brothers.

And he didn't, unsurprisingly. "I'm _fine_, Jace."

"You were forced to your knees, and you looked like you were in pain."

I was taken aback by that. "I _was_?" Then I remembered what I had seen: Magnus Bane. The Hades did it mean?

_It is a name_, said Jeremiah. _The block inside your mind is far stronger than we had anticipated. It can only be safely undone by the one who put it there, Magnus Bane. For us to remove it would be to kill you_.

"That's pleasant," I said, batting Jace's arms away unsuccessfully. Surely enough, he was still anchoring me to the ground and my attempt was in vain.

Jeremiah continued, _Now, it is time for you both to leave the Silent City. Edmund will drive you back, but I will not be accompanying you. Good day_.

I said, "Goodbye," once, but directed it to all the Silent Brothers in attendance. "And thanks for trying to help me."

_Just a moment_, said Jeremiah, but he was addressing Jace, and assumedly said something I couldn't hear. About me, as Jace glanced at me in shock, then back at the archivist.

"Really?" he asked in wonderment.

_Really. Good day, _Jeremiah repeated.

Edmund led us back to the cemetery and disappeared for a few moments, re-appearing peculiarly inside a modern-day hearse with heavily tinted windows. "Get on in. Come on, missy, come on, Mr. Wayland, come on, come on."

Jace opened the door to the hearse for me and I stepped in, finding that where the coffin was supposed to be, there were seats instead. Comfortable seats, actually.

"So what did Brother Jeremiah tell you about me?" I asked Jace as Edmund started driving. I expected the worst, something embarrassing.

Jace just smiled cryptically and put his arm along the back of his seat. "Nothing you don't know already." Yet he looked glorified as we sped off again back down the cobblestone path, leaving the Silent City behind us.


	11. Extra Episode and A N!

**THE NEW AND MUCH IMPROVED EFFORT OF THIS CONCEPT (changing ****_City of Bones_**** by Cassandra Clare for the better) IS FINALLY UP. FIND IT ON MY PROFILE AS SIMPLY ****_City of Bones_****. I'VE WORKED LONG AND HARD ON IT AND I HOPE YOU'LL ALL ENJOY IT.**

**Love,  
>I Suffer From Hubris<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>I'll post an extra episode that I've written from the perspectives of Alec and Magnus. It's a shame that I never got this far in <strong>**_CoB: Revised_****, but I hope you'll all enjoy it.**

**The background for this is that everyone's just gotten back from Magnus's party, and, well... You'll see. I won't spoil it. Let's just say that I love Malec as much as the next fangirl.**

**ENJOY!**

* * *

><p>Note: IF YOU SKIPPED OVER THE AN ABOVE, GO BACK AND READ IT. IT IS VERY IMPORTANT!

_**The First Call**__  
><em>(Alec POV)

Alec stared at his hand, frowning. On it, a seven-digit phone number was scribbled in sparkly ink.

The cell phone number of that warlock he just met, Magnus Bane.

The guy had _winked_ at Alec, and said, "Call me." And then, when Alec looked at his palm, it had Magnus's number on it.

Alec was sitting next to a telephone, internally warring about whether or not to call the guy. Magnus, even when he just winked at Alec, made the Shadowhunter forget completely about Jace, even though it was only for a split second. Magnus woke something deep and primal inside Alec that he'd _thought_ he'd felt around Jace, but was mistaken.

Desire.

Alexander Lightwood, son of Maryse and Robert, brother of Isabelle and Max, desired a _warlock_. And he didn't even know the reasons why.

What would happen from this one phone call? Was Magnus Bane just joking? Was he toying with Alec for some cruel, twisted amusement? Or... was he serious? Did he _want_ Alec just as much as Alec _wanted_ him after knowing him for not even a few hours? And... if Magnus wasn't joking and Alec called him, what would happen? Would they start a... _romance_?

Alec's parents would never approve. Another man, and a warlock at that. It was upsetting to Alec that it had to be that way, but it was.

Isabelle couldn't care less. She'd been the only person Alec had ever 'come out of the closet' to, and the first to know his true sexuality. And besides, Isabelle was always dating Downworlders for attention... But did Alec want that kind of attention? He was far on the shy side.

And Jace... Oh, _Jace_. How would Jace react? Would he shun Alec forevermore, thus breaking Alec's heart? Alec couldn't even think of a life without Jace. It would be depressing. And even if Jace wasn't, well, homosexual, Alec was content to merely be around the blonde, even if that meant watching him flirt with girls and fall in love eventually. That Carrie girl really made Alec nervous...

She'd guessed he was gay, all on her own. Alec only knew because Isabelle told him. How had she figured it out so easily? Was it obvious? Alec tried to seem as straight as possible for a gay man, on the off chance that Jace would suspect something...

Wait. How had _Magnus_ figured it out so easily? Either he had a magical form of gay-dar, or Alec was easily identifiable as a poof. Or maybe the warlock had just caught him looking longingly at Jace while he flirted with Carrie...

Ugh.

Alec threw his head down on an end table, not caring about the dull ache, his hand thrown palm-up next to him. He wanted the numbers to disappear. He wanted any memory of Magnus to disappear. He wanted Jace's firm heterosexuality to disappear...

Alec groaned, which was bad timing on his part because Raven and Maddie walked into the room, chatting about whatever. Raven noticed him first. "What's wrong, Alec?"

Maddie strode over to him and seized his hand (why had he left it face-up? UGH.), giggling slightly. "I think I know why. This is that warlock's number, isn't it?"

Alec raised his head and glared at the newly-proclaimed best friends. They noticed the red imprint of the edge of the table that was on his forehead. "Go away. Both of you. I want to be alone."

Raven grinned. "No way." She joined Maddie and Alec, sitting on one of the latter's armrests. "You're trying to work up the nerve to call him."

"No, I'm not," Alec insisted, his face turning red. These... _girls_... were invading his privacy, which wasn't fair because Jace couldn't rescue him because Jace was in the infirmary with Carrie, recuperating...

Oh, God. The two of them were in the infirmary, alone!

Alec's eyes became frantic as he accosted Raven and Maddie. "Go to the infirmary, quickly!"

"Why?" they both asked.

Alec said through his teeth, "_Because Jace and Carrie are alone in there without any chaperones."_

Raven blinked, mildly surprised at how he was acting. "What, don't you trust Jace?"

Alec said nothing, so Maddie studied him before saying, "He doesn't trust _Carrie_. For shame, Alec! I'm going to hit you for that." Maddie lifted her hand to smack him, but Raven stopped her.

While they squabbled, Alec dropped his head onto the table again. "Can't you both leave me alone?"

"No way," said Raven. "We're going to help you call Magnus."

He frowned into the end table. "But _why_? What do you guys care?"

"Because," Maddie said. "You and Magnus are _perfect_ for each other."

Alec looked at her through doubtful blue eyes. "How can you possibly say that? He's so..." Glittery? Flamboyant? _Sexy..._

AH! What was happening? Alec never thought that about _anyone_, except maybe Jace. And his fantasies about said Jace were usually PG-rated. Nothing at all like what was going through his head when he thought about Magnus...

But-but he'd just met the guy! Alec didn't even know how _old_ the warlock was. He could have been thousands of years old and Alec wouldn't know.

Eww, he was thinking romantically about an old man.

"...Your type," supplied Raven. "Haven't you ever heard that opposites attract?"

"My type?" echoed Alec. What _was_ his 'type', after all? He'd only liked one person. And one person hardly made a 'type'.

Maddie laughed. "I think our dear Alec likes his men tall, blonde, and taken." Why did she say 'taken'? "Because personally, I'm pretty sure Jace is with Carrie."

"He is not," Alec said quickly. "He's just going through a phase."

"A girl-liking phase?" Maddie said, staring skeptically at Alec. "You're under the impression that one day, he's going to fling himself into your arms and-"

"STOP IT!" Alec shouted, so loudly that he was sure all of New York could hear it.

But that didn't deter Maddie. "Alec, I hate it that I'm the one who has to break it to you because I just met you, but Jace isn't going through a phase." She smiled suddenly. "You know, a wise person once said, '_Denial isn't just a river in Egypt_.'"

"Who said that?" Alec asked dully. "A fortune cookie or something you mundanes enjoy so God-damn much?"

He was so distracted with Maddie that he didn't notice that Raven seized his hand for the number and dialed the phone, holding it up to Alec's ear. "It's ringing," she told him.

"WHAT?" he squealed. It _was_ ringing. He was calling Magnus Bane, albeit not by his own will.

"Nicely played, best friend," Raven grinned to Maddie.

"Back at you, best friend." It was very strange to Alec how they'd just met a day or so before and were _already_ calling each other best friends. Especially when Maddie already seemed to _have_ a best friend, her _twin_, that mundie-boy Simon who was trying to make a pass at Alec's baby sister.

Someone picked up on the other line of the phone, and Alec nearly fainted. "_WHO DARES DISTURB MY SLUMBER?_" But... it was noon! Wasn't everyone supposed to be awake by noon?

Alec panicked so much that he didn't answer until Maddie and Raven hit him. "Um... h-h-hi?" His voice cracked embarrassingly. Well, it wasn't helping that he was being forced to talk to a... glittery... so not sexy... warlock like Magnus against his will.

"_Who is this_?" Magnus's voice was curious.

"I-I-I'm Al-l-l-lec and y-you g-gave me your ph-ph-ph-"

"_Oh, are you the gorgeous one with the blue eyes?_"

Alec almost fainted. Again. "I-I guess."

"_It's about time you called me! I was getting worried that you weren't interested."_

Alec coughed, and was glad that Magnus couldn't see his tomato-red face. But Maddie and Raven were staring at him! AH! "Oh, I-I'm interested," Alec said, hardly able to believe what he was saying. The girls burst out laughing.

"_Is someone there with you, um...?"_

"Alec."

"_Right. You're not alone, are you?"_

"N-no, actually, my f-f-f-friends are h-here and m-m-making me even more uncomf-f-fortable because they l-l-like making me m-miserable." They grinned at the description, the sick bastards.

"_Is that why you're stuttering so much?_" Magnus sounded amused.

'I may die,' thought Alec. 'This is humiliating.'

"No, I st-st-st-stutter when I'm n-n-n-n-ner-ner-"

"_Nervous_?"

"Yeah, th-that."

_"That's okay. It's cute._"

"Neh?" Alec squeaked. Magnus thought his awkwardness was _cute_?

"_That's adorable. Make that sound again_."

"I c-c-c-can't." Raven and Maddie were really making him uneasier than he would have been otherwise.

"_And I bet you're blushing."_

"You c-could say that."

"_So, enough with the small talk. When are you coming over?"_

"C-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-" Alec couldn't even _think_ coherently.

Raven said excitedly, "Did he just ask you to come over?"

"Go for it, bitch!" coached Maddie. "What are you waiting for?"

"_Those your friends?"_

"Y-y-yeah," said Alec. "Un-un-unfortun-n-n-nately."

"_Charming."_ Sarcasm? "_You should follow their suggestions."_

"Uh, ok-kay?" His voice cracked. Again. Ugh. Alec thought he'd already _finished_ puberty!

"_Come over as soon as you can. You know where I live, I presume, since you just left last night after the party."_

"Y-y-yeah. I g-guess I'll b-be right over, then." What was Alec agreeing to? Damn that sexy warlock! Maddie and Raven were both gaping, but beaming at the same time. Their evil plan had worked! Alec had put on his Confidence Pants and was going to Magnus's apartment!

"_I can't wait. See you soon, Alec."_ Hearing Magnus say his name sent a shiver down the young Nephilim's spine that wasn't entirely unpleasant.

And then Magnus Bane hung up.

Well, there was only one thing for Alec to do now.

He had a warlock waiting for him.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Now, for Magnus's POV!**

* * *

><p><strong><em>The First Call<em>**  
>(Magnus POV)<p>

Magnus was having the most wonderful dream, ever. It was about that tantalizing blue-eyed Nephilim from his party earlier.

_He was alone with the boy in his apartment. He looked absolutely gorgeous, stunning, even amazing. His eyes were piercing through the warlock like they were looking into his soul... He smiled, an almost excessively adorable, sheepish grin, and looked up at Magnus through his long, dark eyelashes, and made a beckoning motion with his hands... Magnus, of course, complied. Who would deny that beautiful creature _anything_? More importantly, who would able to resist the allure of the Shadowhunter? Who could resist the allure of such a beatific example of masculinity? _

_He moved in close to the boy, drinking in his luscious, Shadowhunting scent. He smelled like vanilla and lilacs mixed together, only better. A certain musk of sorts intensified the sensory explosion._

_The boy met Magnus's gaze with his own dark blue, and draped himself across Magnus, his arms snaking their way around the warlock's neck. The boy leaned in closer and their lips were just about to touch, the ghost of a kiss-_

A steady chorus of "If I had You" by Adam Lambert infiltrated Magnus's blissful sleep, cutting into his brain like a painful chainsaw. His cell phone. His cell phone was ringing.

He leaned over, blinking out of his dream-ridden stupor, and peered at the screen, sprinkling glitter over his bedside table. It was a number he didn't quite recognize, and he was extremely peeved for whoever it was interrupting such an amazing dream... The most amazing dream he'd ever had in his entire hundreds of years of life...

Magnus still answered it. It had better not have been a telemarketer. But... who else could it be? Magnus never gave out his cell phone number to anyone, except that blue-eyed, stunning masterpiece of a man... But no, the boy had seemed far too shy. Barely at terms with his own feelings. No... it couldn't be that exquisite Adonis...

"WHO DARES DISTURB MY SLUMBER?" he thundered into the phone.

"_Um... h-h-hi?_" was the weak reply. It was a male voice, and it cracked adorably at the end. Magnus was always a sucker for the nervous type. They were just so... adorable, with their stuttering and blushing! It was the main reason he was attracted to the blue-eyed boy in the first place.

"Who is this?" Magnus wondered. He wasn't quite familiar with the voice, and he would definitely remember a voice as attractive as that. Who was calling him? Yet... somehow... it was oddly recognizable, like a half-forgotten dream.

"_I-I-I'm Al-l-l-lec and y-you g-gave me your ph-ph-ph-_" Aw, this guy was so cute that it was practically illegal. Not that Magnus cared, of course. He'd gladly break the law if it meant hearing that sexy-yet-adorable voice again.

Recognition crashed through Magnus's mind! "Oh, are you the gorgeous one with the blue eyes?" He dearly, dearly hoped so. If not, though, he may have made an exception for this mysterious caller.

"_I-I guess_," came the nervous voice of that delicious Shadowhunter! Magnus's heart swelled with joy and he slightly danced in place in his bed, yet fought to keep his calm. The blue-eyed boy had actually called him! Best. Day. Ever!

"It's about time you called me! I was getting worried that you weren't interested," Magnus said, trying to sound as casual as possible. He didn't want this boy on the other side to be frightened off by his over-exuberance.

"_Oh, I-I'm interested."_ Magnus almost leaped with joy, and then he heard some muted guffaws from Alec's side and assumed the worst. Was all this a ploy? Was the Shadowhunter being cruel?

"Is someone there with you, um...?" Why did he have to forget the adorable god's name at a time like this? Would he think any less of Magnus?

"_Alec_." What an attractive name! It was the most sweet-sounding name Magnus had ever heard, and Magnus's heart burst with desire at hearing his soon-to-be lover's name. If he had his way, Alec would be his lover in less than an hour. And Magnus _always_ got his way.

"Right. You're not alone, are you?"

"_N-no, actually, my f-f-f-friends are h-here and m-m-making me even more uncomf-f-fortable because they l-l-like making me m-miserable_." What cruel friends! It pained Magnus's soul to hear that his Alec was subject to such harsh semblances of friendship.

"Is that why you're stuttering so much?" Magnus asked, grinning to himself at the mouth-watering image that popped into his brain, Alec blushing and looking at his feet in embarrassment.

"_No, I st-st-st-stutter when I'm n-n-n-n-ner-ner-_"

"Nervous?" Oh, this Alec was even more adorable on the phone than in Magnus's dream, if that was even physically possible! This was turning out almost better than Magnus had ever hoped!

"_Yeah, th-that_."

"That's okay. It's cute." Cute was a humongous understatement.

"_Neh?_" came the small squeak from the other side. Magnus swooned silently, of course, and had to control his delighted gasp. That was the most adorable sound he'd ever heard! If only he could get Alec to make that sound again...

"That's adorable. Make that sound again," Magnus insisted, actually surprised at his own reaction to that scrumptious sound.

"_I c-c-c-can't._" Hearing Alec stutter like that was nearly as good as that. Magnus felt like he was melting into a glittery puddle of emotion.

"And I bet you're blushing," Magnus said teasingly, giggling softly to himself so that Alec couldn't hear.

"_You c-could say that."_ Magnus, who had been in a sitting position, flopped back onto the bed in his whirling hurricane of passion.

Magnus gathered his bearings and threw out a daring statement: "So, enough with the small talk. When are you coming over_?" _He regretted it the moment it passed his lips. What if... what if Alec was so scared from that line that he hung up, never to call back again? Magnus would die of loneliness, loneliness that even Chairman Meow couldn't fix.

"_C-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-_" Alec began stuttering, an obvious loss for words, while Magnus reveled at the amazing sound of his voice.

He heard two distinctly feminine voices in the background, presumably talking to Alec. Were those his 'friends' who made him 'miserable'? Magnus could not tolerate that!

"_Did he just ask you to come over_?" one said.

"Go for it, bitch! What are you waiting for?" another demanded. Were they talking to _Alec_? What a strange name to call a boy. A beautiful boy at that, but a boy nonetheless.

Magnus's curiosity nagged at him until he simply could not handle it. He inquired, "Those your friends?"

_"Y-y-yeah," _said Alec. _"Un-un-unfortun-n-n-nately." _Oh, how adorable! How simply adorable!

"Charming._"_ Magnus wasn't quite sure if he was using sarcasm or not, but it seemed to fit. "You should follow their suggestions," he said daringly, rolling around in his bed, messing up the blankets, in an almost euphoric state of mind.

"_Uh, ok-kay_?" Alec's voice cracked again, and Magnus couldn't resist the resulting swoon.

"Come over as soon as you can. You know where I live, I presume, since you just left last night after the party," he said almost breathlessly, yet not trying to sound overly-sexy. It seemed like the sort of thing that would utterly terrify the beautifully adorable blue-eyed god that was Alec.

"_Y-y-yeah. I g-guess I'll b-be right over, then._" Magnus's hopes soared like fireworks.

He let his voice drop to a provocative whisper, and breathed, "I can't wait. See you soon, Alec." Before Alec could respond, Magnus hung up.

And then, unable to control himself anymore, laughed madly for a few seconds. That Alec was coming to _his_ apartment...! Magnus savored the taste of the boy's name on his lips, saying it several times. "Alec. Alec. _Alec._" He tried a new way of saying each one, knowing fully that he'd need the practice within a little while.

Magnus had a feeling he'd be saying Alec's name many more times to come once Alec got to his door.

* * *

><p><strong>OLD AN: Alright, thanks for reading! I figured I'd throw all of you a bone for being so consistently nice to me. Well... Most of you, anyway. I've had some haters (thank you, FF. net, for allowing me to remove anonymous reviews!), but doesn't everyone? **

**Thanks, also, to everyone who recently jumped on the bandwagon. =D **

**With love,**

**I Suffer From Hubris**

**P.S. And thanks in advance to anyone who reviews! I love reviews. They make me feel like people actually ****_want_**** to read what I write.**


	12. New version is UP! teaser, information

**Okay, everyone! I have fantastic news! MY UPDATED VERSION IS NOW UP! Find it on my profile- it's called ****_City of Bones_****. I worked really, really hard on it, and I hope that you all love it. For now, I'll keep this dinosaur up here to preserve my legacy.**

**But to thank all of you wonderful people, I've decided to throw in a teaser to the prologue of the new rendition. It's so different from all of this, but here's hoping (with fingers crossed) that you'll all still like it as much as I hope you will. **

**Remember to check it out! I'm so much happier with it than I ever was with this. And it's an original work that's loosely adapted from both this ****_and_**** C'Clare's standard, so I'm excited. So if you want to show your support, or if you enjoyed this, or even if you hated this and want something better, I HAVE AN ANSWER FOR YOU! **

**Here's your teaser, my lovelies. =)**

* * *

><p><strong>City of Bones<strong>

by I Suffer From Hubris

* * *

><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

The tall, imposing man stood alone in his bedchamber, pulling on the jacket of his custom-tailored Italian suit. Looking into a mirror for reference, he adjusted the lapels and smoothed his tie, followed shortly thereafter with his hair. The pale blond waves, nearly white in color, always refused to do anything but flop in his face, and it appeared that today was no different. With tired exasperation, he successfully gelled them back off his forehead, subsequently stepping back from the mirror and giving himself a sharp-eyed inspection to ensure that he looked every bit as presentable as he did normally. A life fraught with disappointment and endless toil- of the mental _and_ physical varieties- to achieve his ends had begun to take its toll on him in recent years, although, he suspected, not as badly as it would have for many of his contemporaries. He could handle it quite well, at least by his own estimation, and his many personal luxuries helped alleviate some of the stress. The endless number of pinstriped suits, for example.

Just as he was buttoning his jacket of one of those very suits and pondering what disappointments today would bring (and, naturally, how he could work around them and fix whatever would be messed up today; he really needed a new team of underlings who might actually be _useful_ for once), someone burst through his door.

Startled, the man was distracted from re-adjusting his necktie. A small, panting sprite stood in the threshold to his chamber, obviously winded. The elf-like creature took a moment to catch his breath, during which the towering man contemplated impatiently what this interruption could mean.

Then, the being, so little in comparison, spoke to him, effectively drawing his musing to an end. "Sir… We've found them."

* * *

><p><strong>Who is this strange and arrogant man? Find out! Read <strong>**_City of Bones_****, my rendition! The rest of this, as well as the first chapter, is up and ready for reading. And trust me, the whole thing is so much better than this that I can scarcely believe that I wrote it. =D **

**What are you waiting for? It's only a few short clicks away... **


End file.
